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The crack of a shot echoed through the still air 

[Page 228] 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


By 

Lynn Gunnison 

\Jose-plv 3# slw-e 

» 1 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1924 






* 


ft 


N4<? 



Copyright, 1923-24 
By 

Lynn Gunnison 


Published November, 1924 


Copyright in Great Britain 





Printed in the United States of America 


DEC-1’24 


©C1A814040 

' 2 . 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I The Sound in the Night. 1 

II Tragedy . . 8 

III The Legacy of Fear.16 

IV At Bay.22 

V The Yellow Lure.30 

VI Followed.37 

VII A Losing Battle.43 

VIII Dan Moran.50 

IX The Lie.58 

X Moran Takes a Hand.63 

XI “A Man Like You”.69 

XII Tricked.74 

XIII To Save a Girl.80 

XIV The Plan.84 

XV “Lightning” Strikes.92 

XVI Flight.99 

XVII Hatchet.106 

XVIII Ormsby Asher.115 

XIX The Face in the Window.126 

XX The Evil Shadow.133 

XXI Resentment.141 

XXII Separation.147 

XXIII Spike Mogridge . ..153 

XXIV The Spider Spins a Web.161 


























VI 


Contents 


CHAPTER PAGE 

XXV Lost Squaw Mine.168 

XXVI The Ambush.176 

XXVII Trapped. .183 

XXVIII Carried Away.188 

XXIX The Fangs of the Spider.198 

XXX Dan Rides.208 

XXXI The Slim Edge of Hazard.217 

XXXII The Black Carries Double.225 

XXXIII Gone!.231 

XXXIV The Vanished Watcher.238 

XXXV Suspicion.244 

XXXVI In the Dark.249 

XXXVII Eavesdroppers.255 

XXXVIII Footsteps.262 

XXXIX Luck and Mischance.269 

XL Pursued.277 

XLI Check!.288 

XLII Tightening Coils.299 

XLIII The Mountain Trail.305 

XLIV Lost.315 

XLV The Dead City.325 

XLVI The Menacing Whisper.333 

XLVII The Stone Slab Falls.344 


























MORAN OF SADDLE BUTTE 


TO 

F. E. BLACKWELL 


MORAN OF SADDLE 
BUTTE 


CHAPTER I 

THE SOUND IN THE NIGHT 

R OUSED suddenly from deep slumber, the girl 
sat upright in her bunk, staring wide-eyed into 
the thick, shrouding darkness of the cabin room. 
Her heart was beating wildly, her muscles tense and 
rigid as she strove to fix that unwonted sound, the 
echoes of which seemed to linger tantalizingly just 
beyond the range of her waking consciousness. 

Listening with straining ears and bated breath for 
a repetition, she could hear nothing; yet somehow 
the intense stillness failed to reassure her. She tried 
to tell herself that what had startled her from pro¬ 
found slumber was merely one of the ordinary night 
sounds of the wilderness, which were sometimes eerie 
enough when one was alone. But for all that her 
pulse continued to pound and she found it quite 
impossible to quiet her tingling nerves. 

At length, summoning courage, she thrust back the 
covers and slipping out of bed fumbled in the dark¬ 
ness for the dressing gown she had left beside the 
bunk. It took her a few moments to find it and 
the slippers, which seemed to evade her with the 
1 


2 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


impish malice of inanimate things. But at last she 
had them on, and creeping softly across the tiny 
room, she drew the door slowly and silently open. 

In the opposite wall of this larger room, which 
served at once as kitchen, living room and her 
father’s sleeping quarters, the outlines of an unshut¬ 
tered window loomed indistinctly in the gray light of 
approaching dawn. That was one of the chief causes 
of the girl’s terror — had been so from the first. 
Not only had she failed to draw the heavy wooden 
shutter when she went to bed, but she had left the 
rough sash partly raised. In the mellow lamplight 
with a cheerful fire crackling on the wide hearth it 
had seemed safe enough. But now, shivering with 
cold and nervousness, she wished fervently that she 
had not let her love of fresh air outweigh her sense 
of prudence. 

But no girl can live the life which Shirley Rives 
had lived for the past two years without possessing, 
among other qualities, both resource and courage. 
After all, she reflected, her gaze set intently on the 
blurred gray outline of the window, if an intruder 
chanced to be prowling about the cabin, he had evi¬ 
dently failed as yet to find this point of weakness. 
She had merely to cross the room, softly close and 
bolt the shutter, and her negligence of last night 
would be repaired. 

Drawing the folds of her gown about her, she 
slipped through the doorway and started across the 




The Sound in the Night 


3 


room on tiptoe. She had almost reached the window 
when all at once a sudden muffled thud from the other 
side of the outer door halted her abruptly. 

Unmistakably the stamp of an impatient horse, 
the sound drained every particle of color from the 
girl’s face. For an instant she stood motionless, lips 
parted slightly, eyes fixed on the heavy planking that 
covered the opening in the log wall. Then stepping 
swiftly forward, she bent down cautiously and thrust¬ 
ing one arm through the open window, grasped the 
edge of the shutter and drew it slowly toward her. 

The hinges did not creak and with a sigh of 
thankfulness she pushed the bolt into its socket with 
fingers that shook a little. Then her slim figure 
straightened and faced the door, invisible now in 
the darkness. As she did so the horse stamped 
again. 

Shirley’s lips tightened and one hand fumbled 
nervously with the cord of her woolen gown as she 
fought determinedly against the choking apprehen¬ 
sion that rose up within her. What was a strange 
horse doing here at this hour? Who was its rider? 
And where? That it must have a rider she was 
certain, for horses did not roam at large through this 
remote mountain wilderness, and their own two 
cayuses were accounted for. Her father had ridden 
off early that afternoon on Robin, and she herself 
had carefully fastened her own roan into the corral 
at dusk. 



4 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


As she stood there thinking, her ears strained to 
catch the slightest sound, the character of that 
unknown prowler took on in her keyed-up mind 
sinister, terrifying qualities. He might, of course, be 
some chance passerby, though these were rare enough 
at any time. But somehow the hour precluded that, 
and if he were honest or on some simple errand, 
wouldn’t he naturally come straight to the door and 
knock? As for neighbors, the nearest dwelling was 
nearly a score of miles away, and that- 

A little chilling tremor went over her as she 
thought of all that she had heard of that crowd 
over at Saddle Butte. So far they had kept away 
from the isolated mountain cabin. Save at a distance, 
Shirley had never even seen the men who made up 
that agglomeration known as the Gridiron outfit, the 
ostensible character of which was but a flimsy shield 
for all sorts of outlawry. She had been riding with 
her father at the time and the look on his face no 
less than the manner in which he had snatched her 
bridle and dragged her horse into an adjacent canon 
was more eloquent, even, than his subsequent 
emphatic words of caution. 

The bare possibility that one of these men might 
be lurking about the cabin at first terrorized Shirley 
and then abruptly roused in her the courage of 
desperation. She tried to think where she had left 
her six-shooter and cartridge belt, but could not quite 
remember. Either it was on the shelf over by the 






The Sound in the Night 


5 


fireplace or in her bedroom. In any case she must 
have a light, so without further delay she felt her 
way into the smaller room and fumbling about in the 
darkness found a candle and some matches. 

The wavering yellow flame revealed the weapon 
lying on a rough pine table which served Shirley as a 
bureau. Swiftly she reached for it. Then, moved 
by a second thought, she slipped off her gown and 
dressed with utmost haste. With that same swift 
movement — somehow she dared not pause too long 
for fear her nerves would get the better of her — 
she buckled on the cartridge belt and holster and 
went back to the other room, carrying the lighted 
candle. 

Here for the first time the unpleasant realization 
was forced upon her that there was nothing left her 
now save to stand and wait. She set down the candle 
on a big table in the middle of the room and though 
she felt it a quite unnecessary precaution, took out 
her six-shooter to make sure that it was loaded. 
When she had dropped the weapon back into its 
holster, her eyes sought the door and suddenly she 
began to wonder whether by any chance she might 
not be working herself up unnecessarily. So far she 
had neither seen nor heard the faintest sign of a 
human being. It was the presence of the horse alone 
that had so startled and disturbed her. 

“ I suppose he could have broken away from his 
owner and found his way here,” she reflected. “ I 



6 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


don’t see what would bring a strange horse here, 
but-” 

A sudden horrifying possibility seared through her 
brain and turned her face chalk-white. Her father! 
What if he had met with some accident? Suppose 
the horse outside was Robin, returned as he naturally 
would if set free of a rider’s directing hand? 

A little, quavering gasp came from between her 
clenched teeth and she caught the edge of the table 
back of her with one hand. And then, before she 
had time to pull herself together, a thing happened 
which served merely to confirm her horrified 
suspicion. Under her startled gaze she saw the door 
latch — move! 

Slowly it rose and fell. She heard a little click and 
saw the narrow strip of metal quiver as if some one 
was striving in vain to lift it the second time. There 
followed swiftly a sound as of something brushing 
across the door, a thud and finally a muffled groan. 

Heart beating wildly, the girl flung herself at the 
door, thrust back the heavy bolt and dragged it open. 
Outside in the cold gray dawn a horse confronted 
her with pricked-up ears — a white-faced sorrel that 
bore no resemblance at all to Robin. 

Shirley scarcely saw him. After that first brief, 
sweeping glance, her eyes flashed downward to where, 
huddled on the doorstep, was the limp figure of a 
man. Long, lean, grizzle-haired he was, his lined, 
unshaven face drawn and gray as if from pain and 




The Sound in the Night 


7 


weakness, his eyes half closed. It was the face of a 
man in dire extremity, but to the girl’s certain 
knowledge she had never set eyes on him until this 
moment. 



CHAPTER II 

TRAGEDY 


S HIRLEY’S first emotion was of intense thank¬ 
fulness that it was not her father. Then a wave 
of pity and concern swept over her. Whoever he 
might be, the stranger was either badly hurt or 
desperately ill, and a spasm of self-reproach came 
over the girl at the remembrance that her nervous 
tremors had been the cause of his remaining so long 
untended. Impulsively she dropped on her knees 
beside him and as she did so his lids slowly lifted. 

“Yuh — ain’t here — alone, miss?” he whispered 
with an effort. 

After an instant’s hesitation, Shirley nodded. 
There was something about the drawn, lined face 
and in the dark, searching eyes which made her feel, 
somehow, that he was to be trusted. 

“ My father’s gone over to Elk Ford and won’t 
be back until tonight,” she explained. “There’s no 
one else here.” 

The man gave a stifled groan and one of his hands 
clenched spasmodically. Shirley bent forward 
swiftly. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said hastily. “You must let 
me help you. I’m afraid you’re — badly hurt.” 

The stranger’s lips twitched. “ Yo’re right there, 
ma’am,” he muttered, speaking with evident effort. 
8 


Tragedy 


9 


“The gang — got me — over by the Needles. 
. . . . But I — held onto the saddle an’ — 

fooled’em. They-” 

His voice trailed away into silence and his lids 
drooped again. Alarmed, Shirley sprang up and 
hastily crossing to a cupboard beside the fireplace, 
found a bottle of spirits from which she poured a 
generous portion into a tin cup. Returning swiftly 
she bent over and set the edge of the cup against the 
man’s lips. 

“ Drink this,” she urged gently. “ It’ll make you 
stronger, and then I’ll try and get you onto the bed.” 

Again his lids lifted with that slow, painful move¬ 
ment which made it seem as if even that slight effort 
were difficult. For a moment their glances met, and 
Shirley, looking into the dark, dilated, tortured eyes 
knew as well as if the man had spoken that he was 
debating whether the increased strength and pro¬ 
longed consciousness would be worth the added pain. 
The realization of his extremity shocked the girl and 
made it difficult to control her voice. 

“ Please! ” she begged a little unsteadily. 

Obediently he drank and in a little space a faint 
color crept into his face. 

“ Much obliged,” he murmured. “ I’m afraid it’s 
no use, though, ma’am. I’m all in, an’ I don’t reckon 
I could even crawl across the room.” 

The man’s voice was stronger and underneath the 
Western blur Shirley detected a note of gentle depre- 




10 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


cation as if his chief regret in the situation was the 
trouble and annoyance it might bring to her. A faint 
rose color was beginning to tinge the dawn and in the 
stronger light she could see his face clearly. A 
strong face it was, lined, weatherbeaten, with firm yet 
sensitive lips. As well as she could judge in a country 
which sets its mark early on its manhood she guessed 
that he was in the neighborhood of fifty. All this 
she gathered in a fleeting instant and then was over¬ 
whelmed by the stamp of finality, ethereal yet only 
too terribly unmistakable, that lay upon his ashen 
face. The man was dying and he knew it; and the 
realization shocked and horrified the girl and wrung 
her heart. For a moment she was quite incapable of 
speech, but with an effort she managed to pull herself 
together. 

“ You — you must let me help,” she said in a voice 
that shook a little. “I’m very strong — much 
stronger than I look. If we could only get you on 
your feet I’m sure I could manage.” 

For a moment or two he lay against the door 
jamb breathing heavily. Then suddenly the girl, 
watching him intently, saw a dull spark flash into his 
eyes and a tremor pass over his limp body. 

“ I clean forgot about — them!” he said hoarsely. 
“They’ll follow, an’ they’ll get — what they’re after 
unless- Gimme another drop o’ liquor.” 

She obeyed instantly. For a little space he lay 
motionless. Then he glanced up at her again. 




Tragedy 


11 


“ If yo’re ready, ma’am—” he murmured. 

Bracing her feet, she bent over and taking a firm 
hold of his body just below the arm pits, exerted all 
her strength to lift him upright. In this he aided 
her to the best of his ability, and what that effort 
meant she could tell by the streaming sweat and 
twisting muscles of his lined face. Somehow she got 
one shoulder underneath his right arm and in this 
way, step by step with painful slowness, she helped 
him across the threshold and over to her father’s 
bunk in the corner. He kept up until she had 
lowered him gently to the mattress. Then his head 
fell back on the pillow and his long, lean body sagged 
limply. 

Swiftly Shirley brought water in a basin and 
sprinkled it on his face. Across his flannel shirt was 
a dark, glistening stain the sight of which brought her 
lips together and sent her flying into the other room 
to return with strips of clean cotton torn from a 
petticoat. She had a ghastly feeling that whatever 
she might do would be quite fruitless, yet her 
capable slim fingers never ceased their swift, deft 
movements. 

With infinite gentleness she bared the wound in 
his chest and cleansed it as best she could. She was 
striving to staunch the flow of blood with pads of 
cotton, when a slight movement made her glance up 
to meet the stranger’s gaze. 

“Yo’re — mighty good, ma’am,” he murmured; 



12 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“but it ain’t a mite o’ use. I got somethin’—to tell 
yuh, an’ I gotta do it — quick.” 

One hand still pressing down the pads, she sat 
back staring at him. 

“I’ll make it brief—I gotta,” he said, speaking 
with evident effort. “My name’s Blake — John 
Blake. I been prospectin’ in the mountains north o’ 
here — more’n two years. Four days ago I found — 
the lost Squaw Mine.” 

He paused to moisten his lips. At the mention of 
this object of her own father’s persistent search — 
a search which from the first she had felt as utterly 
futile and hopeless as the pursuit of some fleeting 
mirage, Shirley’s eyes widened and she stared at him 
incredulously. 

“It’s true,” he told her briefly. “Feel in my 
pocket—the left hand one.” 

In a daze she obeyed and drew forth a small 
canvas bag, soiled and stained and very heavy. A 
buckskin thong secured the mouth, and when the girl, 
still following Blake’s directions, untied it and looked 
inside, she caught her breath sharply. 

A little dust was there, but mostly the bag was 
full of nuggets, smooth, waterworn, ranging in size 
from a pea to a pigeon’s egg. They gave off a 
lustrous, golden sheen which was unmistakable, and 
through Shirley’s bewildered mind there flashed a 
vivid memory of the legend of the lost mine which 
she had heard again and again from her father, and 



T ragedy 


13 


which, indeed, was famous throughout this section of 
the West. 

Thin to emaciation, delirious with fever, a Sioux 
squaw had tottered into a settler’s cabin west of 
Wind River twenty odd years ago babbling of twin 
mountain peaks and a dried up water course the 
bottom paved with gold. She died without giving 
further information, but hidden in her garments was 
found a knotted rag containing a score of nuggets, 
smooth, waterworn, varying in size as these did, and 
of the purest gold. 

When the news leaked out, as it did after a failure 
or two, the excitement was intense. Party after party 
went forth into the mountain wilderness searching for 
the twin peaks guarding the watercourse of gold. 
Some returned disappointed, disillusioned; others 
left their bones bleaching in some remote canon. 
None was successful. As years went on the story 
became a legend, but every now and then someone, 
like Colonel Rives, for instance, dominated by a 
belief in his own ability, or by a greater faith in 
fortune, took up anew the endless quest. 

“ Get a pencil an’ paper.” 

Blake’s voice, weak and labored, broke in upon the 
girl’s thoughts and brought her swiftly to her feet. 
Almost without conscious volition she snatched a 
pencil from the table and with it a tattered novel she 
had been reading the night before. Somehow the 
whole experience seemed like a waking dream, fan- 



14 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


tastic, incredible. Mechanically she opened the book 
at the blank flyleaf, and at the dying man’s behest 
she jotted down his labored, broken utterances. 

“ Follow Wind River to source. 


Three canons.Take left hand one. Follow 

to end.Climb to mesa. Cross to where 


cone shaped peak rises from granite cliff — about 
seven miles. Follow base of cliff westward three 
miles to canon running northeast. Half a mile on left 
is a thick clump of mesquite. Behind it narrow — 
opening into blind gulch — old river bed — where 
gold is. The squaw — was dotty. There ain’t but 
— one peak. That’s what—fooled ’em all. 
. . . . Yuh — yuh—got — that?” 

“Yes.” 

“Tear it outa the book — an’ hide it.” The man’s 
voice had grown steadily weaker and more feeble. 
Each word seemed a tremendous effort and Shirley, 
crouching on the floor beside the bunk, had to bend 
over him to hear. “Hide the gold, too. It’s — all 

yores.But look out for — Mogridge. 

. . . . I run into him — an’ a bunch from Sad¬ 
dle Butte — last night.There was a 

scrimmage.Some loose nuggets — fell 

outa my pocket.They — shot me, but 

I — got on Tawny an’—an’—beat it—in the dark. 

. They’ll follow, though. 

They’ll guess from the nuggets what — I 
found.Mogridge is — one devil, girl. 





T ragedy 


15 


Don’t ever — let ’em know I — been 
here or they’ll raise— I’m plumb sorry—to give 
yuh all this — trouble, but— Take care of Tawny. 
. . . . He’s — he’s a good — hoss. Yore 

father-” 

His voice, which had weakened to the merest 
breath, merged imperceptibly into silence. Through 
a mist of tears Shirley gazed piteously for an instant 
at his gaunt, still face. Then, with a stifled sob, she 
reached out, caught one of the limp hands between 
her firm, warm palms and held it tight. 

The man’s lids flickered and half lifted, and his 
lips curved faintly. Shirley heard him give a little 
sigh which made her think poignantly of a tired child 
relapsing into sleep, and impulsively she bent forward 
and set her quivering lips against his grizzled 
cheek. 

Outside, the sorrel stood motionless, ears pricked 
forward as if listening. Through the open door a 
slanting ray of brilliant sunshine swept into the 
shadowy room and played about the bent, bronzed 
head of the girl and on her slender, heaving 
shoulders. The silence was broken only by her stifled 
sobs. 




CHAPTER III 

THE LEGACY OF FEAR 

D AZED, grief-stricken and overwhelmed, Shirley 
Rives stood in the open doorway staring at the 
lovely panorama spread out before her. In the face 
of the tragedy which had so suddenly and unex¬ 
pectedly engulfed her it seemed incredible, unnatural 
that the sun should gleam so brilliantly from such a 
cloudless sky. Just as on any other morning the faint 
mist rising from the valley tinged the line of willows 
with a delicate and tender green; the jagged line of 
mountains were etched against the blue with all that 
sense of gigantic power and boldness which yester¬ 
day, and for countless other mornings had so fasci¬ 
nated her. The cool, mysterious green of that dark 
sweep of pines, the piled up, chaotic rocks, the sense 
of infinite space, of crystal clarity, of brooding quiet, 
were quite unchanged, yet Shirley was conscious of a 
sudden, bitter hatred of it all, a momentary weariness 
of even life itself. 

Then, chancing to meet the watchful, curiously 
intelligent gaze of the sorrel, her face softened. 

“ I wonder if you know?” she murmured. “ Poor 
thing! At least I’m sure you’re hungry.” 

Stepping from the threshold, she slowly ap¬ 
proached the horse, which first backed nervously 
away and then halted, head thrust slightly forward. 
16 


The Legacy of Fear 


17 


Shirley knew enough of western horses to realize 
how unusual it was for one to allow a woman to 
come close to it on foot. Had this one been a pet, 
she wondered, as she caught the trailing reins and led 
him toward the corral which, with a rough log shed, 
stood behind the cabin. Somehow the possibility 
deepened the note of tragedy. 

As she led him through the corral gate Shirley gave 
the sorrel's rough coat a little pat and then with 
expert fingers began to remove the saddle. She had 
it off and lying on the ground beside her when sud¬ 
denly, for no apparent reason, she straightened and 
turned pale. 

From the moment when John Blake had breathed 
his last her mind had dwelt exclusively on the tragedy 
of his sudden taking off — the violence, the brutality, 
the intolerable manner of his end. Her heart had 
been wrung by the thought of such a man cut off in 
his prime, dying alone, almost, with no loved one near 
save only the horse he cared for. Of the gold, of 
that astonishing story of the lost mine and the evil 
consequences it might bring, she had not given 
another thought. But now, standing motionless be¬ 
side the sorrel, the full realization of what those con¬ 
sequences might be swept overwhelmingly upon her 
and turned her cold. 

For an instant she stood stricken, her glance appre¬ 
hensively searching the westward trail. Then hastily 
tying the sorrel’s bridle to the rail, she slipped out 



18 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


of the corral and ran toward the house. And as she 
fled the calm, still beauty of the morning seemed to 
have turned into something cold and threatening. 
She saw nothing unusual, heard no alien sound, yet 
her startled imagination peopled the willows with a 
score of hostile, prying eyes and set a sinister figure 
behind each upthrust boulder. 

In the cabin the open bag of gold lay where it had 
slipped unheeded from her lap; the book, with that 
page of hurried pencilling for which men would risk 
their lives or remorselessly take the lives of others, 
sprawled open on the floor. As Shirley snatched 
them up a passionate hatred of the yellow metal 
swept over her. It was like some evil pestilence, 
leaving a trail of death and destruction in its wake. 
For an instant she was tempted to burn the writing 
and fling away the nuggets. It was the remembrance 
of John Blake’s final admonition; the thought of what 
he had paid and what had been in his mind at the 
last, set her to looking for a hiding place. 

The wide hearth piled thick with wood ashes 
caught her eye. Scraping a hole in one corner, she 
dropped the bag into it and covered it carefully. The 
writing she tore from the book and after a moment’s 
thought rolled it into a slim quill and thrust that 
down the barrel of a rifle standing in the corner. 
That much done she turned and with pulses still 
drumming and color high, critically surveyed the 
cabin. 



The Legacy of Fear 


19 


Already she had covered that still figure in the 
bunk with a blanket. The basin and the stained pads 
and torn strips of cotton were easily disposed of. 
Hiding the latter, and flinging out the water, she took 
a broom and carefully effaced the few footprints left 
by horse and man in the hard soil. There remained 
now only the horse and saddle. 

Given time, Shirley felt she would have had no 
difficulty in concealing the sorrel. She knew of plenty 
of obscure gullies and little canons in the mountains 
where even a horse might lie hidden indefinitely. But 
these were all at a considerable distance and she 
dared not leave the cabin, with its perilous secret, too 
long out of her sight. As a result she was forced to 
take a chance. Back of the log shed was a little hol¬ 
low covered with thick underbrush into which she led 
the animal. Having tied him to a stout mesquite she 
brought a generous armful of hay from their small 
store to keep him from growing restless. The saddle 
she dragged off in another direction and hid it in the 
bushes. 

Her every movement was made at high tension 
and with the expectation of seeing at any moment a 
line of riders sweep over the little rise in the trail 
toward which she so often turned her troubled gaze. 
Indeed, when she had gained the cabin again it 
seemed incredible that those pursuers could have de¬ 
layed so long until, glancing at the watch she had left 
on the table, she discovered to her amazement that 



20 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


barely an hour had passed since she had first flung 
open the door to find the dying stranger on her 
threshold. 

“ It doesn’t seem possible,” she murmured, slipping 
the watch strap about her wrist and fastening the 
clasp. “ Of course that accounts for their not com¬ 
ing. If he lost them in the dark it would naturally 
take them a little while to pick up his trail and follow 
it this far. If I could only hope they’d never find it! ” 

Unfortunately, from what she had heard of the 
Saddle Butte gang that solace was denied her. Their 
leader especially had a reputation for diabolical 
cleverness and an entire absence of any moral 
scruples. With his cupidity aroused by the sight of 
the nuggets Blake had let fall, he would leave no 
stone unturned to discover their source. 

After a moment’s hesitation Shirley went into the 
bedroom to fasten up her hair, which still fell about 
her shoulders in luxuriant, coppery waves. Return¬ 
ing, she kindled a small fire and set a pot of coffee 
on to boil. She had just turned away from the hearth 
when the sound came which she had dreaded — the 
rapid pound of hoofs beating along the trail. 

With color ebbing from her face and slender 
fingers tightly interlaced, the girl was for an instant 
stricken motionless. They had come! What was 
she to do? 

Her glance swept the room swiftly, pausing for a 
fleeting moment on the bunk. At any cost they must 



The Legacy of Fear 


21 


not enter here. Half consciously her right hand slid 
down to rest on the holster hanging at her side. 
There was a slight measure of reassurance in the 
touch, but only too well she realized how little she 
could count on meeting such men as these with a show 
of force. That must come only as a last resort when 
every other means had failed. A moment later she 
was standing in the open doorway, her intent, 
appraising glance sweeping over the string of 
horsemen rapidly approaching. 



CHAPTER IV 


AT BAY 


HERE were seven of them, as widely diverse 



X in manner and appearance as any seven men 
could be. One quality alone they held in common — 
an absolutely perfect skill in horsemanship. They 
sat their mounts with a careless ease, an uncon¬ 
scious grace and jauntiness which was the poetry of 
motion. Indeed, for a fleeting instant the extraordi¬ 
nary picturesqueness of that line of swiftly moving 
men sweeping over the mountain trail stirred Shir¬ 
ley’s imagination in spite of the desperate nature of 
her plight. Then, as she began to perceive details 
of bearing and expression, the realization of the 
quality of the men she had to deal with abruptly 
banished every other thought. 

Hard, callous, reckless faces they were, stamped 
with the spice of daring—some of them with more 
than a touch of cold brutality. There were seamed 
and grizzled faces, scarred, weatherbeaten, etched 
with sinister lines. One or two were younger, but 
even less attractive with their loose lips and hard, 
calculating eyes. To Shirley the most disquieting of 
all was the face of their leader and that, in a bold, 
full-blooded way, was handsome. 

A trifle over weight, yet carrying it well, this man 
could not be mistaken as he rode slightly in advance 


22 


At Bay 


23 


of the other six. Superbly mounted, dressed and 
caparisoned with a bewildering glitter of silver mount¬ 
ings and elaborately stamped leather, of spotless 
linen and crimson silk about his muscular brown 
throat, he reminded the girl more of a stage cowboy 
than of any of the workaday men she had met in her 
varied experiences in the West. Save for a slight 
heaviness of jaw and chin, his features were shapely 
enough; but his lips were significantly full and red, 
and in the bold, black eyes set appraisingly on the 
girl, was a surprise and growing admiration which 
made her unaccountably shiver. 

Without slowing down his mount he left the trail. 
Followed by the others, he dashed up almost to the 
doorstep where he jerked the spirited black to an 
abrupt, spectacular halt and swept off his huge 
sombrero with a slightly exaggerated gesture of 
greeting. 

“ Mornin’, ma’am,” he drawled, his eyes sweeping 
her up and down in a manner that brought the hot 
color into Shirley’s pale face. “This shore is one 
surprise. I understood Rives was livin’ here alone.” 

Shirley set her teeth and her slim figure 
straightened. Prudence compelled her to try and 
suppress the loathing she felt for this Spike 
Mogridge, whose evil doings had made his name a 
byword throughout the country, but she found it 
difficult. 

“Colonel Rives is my father,” she returned 



24 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


briefly. “ I’ve been with him ever since he settled 
here nearly a year ago.” 

Mogridge replaced his hat at a jaunty angle; his 
full red lips parted in a grin. “Yuh don’t say! 
Funny none o’ the boys seen yuh — though we ain’t 
often ridin’ this way. He musta kept yuh mighty 
close. Kinda selfish I’ll say. Yuh musta found it 
all-fired dull.” 

Shirley made no answer. Her eyes, leaving 
Mogridge for an instant, flashed about the circle of 
men sitting their horses just behind him. One or tw r o 
of them looked amused; the others, she thought, 
slightly impatient. For a moment her glance rested 
on a face she had not noticed before — a young, 
clean-cut face with straight, rather hard lips and cool, 
slightly narrowed gray eyes which held an odd, 
enigmatic expression. A second later her glance 
returned to Mogridge. 

“No dances, no comp’ny — nothin’,” continued 
the latter, white teeth still showing. “ That ain’t the 
life for a girl like you. Why, if I’d known— There 
was a dance over to Clayton only night before 
last, an’-” 

“ Why’n’t yuh get down to business, Spike?” 
interrupted a curt voice back of Mogridge. “This 
ain’t no social call. We’re wastin’ time.” 

It was the man with the gray eyes who spoke 
Shirley guessed it intuitively, and a swift side glance 
confirmed her hazard. Mogridge’s lips closed 




At Bay 


25 


abruptly and an angry glint flashed into his eyes. 

“Is that so?” he retorted sharply. “Who’s 
bossin’ this outfit, Moran? ” 

“You are,” returned the gray-eyed fellow com¬ 
posedly. “ But we all got a plenty interest in it, an’ 
if we fool around here much longer we might as well 
turn around an’ head for home.” 

“ Dan’s right,” growled one of the older men 
before Mogridge had time to retort. “ Get to it, 
Spike. Ask the lady if she seen anybody passin’ this 
way last night or this mawnin’.” 

Rage flared into the leader’s face a crimson flood 
■—intolerant rage; and then abruptly a curious, cold 
calculating expression that Shirley could not analyze, 
yet which affected her more than the man’s crude 
fury. It was as if some sinister thought or possi¬ 
bility had come swiftly to still his anger. It might 
have been merely a belated remembrance of their 
errand and all that this involved, but somehow 
Shirley had a feeling that this was not quite all. At 
any rate the glimpse of that veiled expression lurking 
in his eyes started her heart to thumping and set 
every nerve tingling. 

“Did yuh?” Mogridge drawled, his slightly 
narrowed eyes watching her intently. 

Shirley braced herself mentally, and in changing 
her position edged backward a few inches. 

“You mean — did I see someone pass along the 
trail?” she questioned, with a tremendous effort to 



26 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


make her voice sound casual. 

“ Shore. An oldish man with grizzled hair, ridin’ 
a chunky sorrel. We — a — caught him rustlin’ some 
stock an’ chased him down through the Needles. 
Might ’a’ been wounded some. I’d ’a’ sworn I plowed 
him one, anyhow.” 

Without shifting her glance, Shirley was conscious 
of a battery of eyes trained on her, yet she did not 
hesitate or falter. She knew she must not—that if 
she roused the least suspicion in the minds of one of 
them she would be as good as lost. 

“No one passed that I know of,” she returned 
equably. “ I’ve been up and about for over an hour, 
and I’d certainly have seen anyone riding on the 
trail.” 

“Yuh didn’t hear nobody in the night? There 
wasn’t anybody stopped here?” 

Her glance, cool, innocent, level-eyed, met his 
unflinchingly and she shook her head. 

“ No,” she lied calmly. 

Her color did not change; not a muscle rippled on 
the smooth, shapely oval of her face. It was the 
perfection of acting, but it produced one effect Shirley 
had not counted on. The strain and the supreme 
effort she was making for self control brought a 
sparkle to her eyes and deepened the wild-rose flush 
that glowed so becomingly beneath her clear, golden 
tan. Poised there in the doorway, lithe, graceful, 
the sun striking notes of copper from her luxuriant 



r At Bay 


27 


hair, she was a perfect embodiment of fresh, frag¬ 
rant, vivid beauty which was piquant and infinitely 
alluring to a man of Mogridge’s stamp. His eyes 
glowed with keen admiration tinged with sudden 
passion; one gloved hand clenched slightly; the other 
unconsciously tightened its grip on the bridle. 

“ Funny,” he drawled calculatingly. “ I could ’a* 
sworn he took this trail. O’ course he mighta passed 
while yuh was asleep— Wasn’t yore dad here?” 

“ No,” she answered, knowing how futile it would 
be to try and deceive him. “ He went to Elk Ford 
yesterday for supplies.” 

“An’ left yuh here all alone?” There was some¬ 
thing more than banter in his voice and in the 
expression of the bold black eyes. “ Now that don’t 
strike me as very consid’rate for a-” 

He broke off and in a flash was out of the saddle. 
But Shirley, warned by the expression on his face, 
was ready for such a move. Flinging herself back 
into the cabin, she slammed the door and shot the 
bolt just as the impact of his body crashed against 
the boards. 

“ You vixen! ” His voice came to her, throaty and 
somewhat muffled by the heavy barrier. “ Lemme in. 
All I want is a drink o’ water.” 

Shirley’s clenched hand rested against her 
throbbing throat. “ You can get that at the spring,” 
she panted. “ I’m — not going to let you in.” 

The latch rattled and then came the sound of 




28 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


several men talking at once. Shirley could not make 
out what they were saying, but from their tones she 
guessed they were arguing with Mogridge — perhaps 
urging him to abandon his attempt to gain entrance 
to the cabin. 

Fervently she prayed that this might be so. Only 
too well she realized how helpless she would be 
against any real effort to break into the building. 
Her sole hope lay in the cupidity of the outlaws, and 
their belief that Blake had passed by the cabin. 

Clutching the edge of the table, she waited breath¬ 
lessly. Had they been deceived? Would they go 
away without further investigations? The thought 
of the sorrel hidden among the undergrowth suddenly 
assailed her with fresh terror. If only he kept 
silent there was little risk of discovery; but what 
assurance was there that at this crucial moment he 
would not lift up his voice in a ringing neigh to the 
horses of whose presence he must by this time be 
aware. 

At last the voices ceased and Shirley’s heart leaped 
at the muffled, receding tramp of hoofs. These grew 
rapidly fainter and presently silence fell; but still she 
stood motionless, waiting, listening, wondering if it 
really was the end or just a clever subterfuge to lure 
her forth. She dared not open the door, but after a 
little space she stole over to the eastern window and 
with trembling fingers slowly pushed up the sash and 
unbolted the shutter. Thrusting this gently outward 



At Bay 


29 


she peered through the crack, her glance searching 
the crooked, twisting trail which ribboned over rocks 
and through gullies to disappear at length in the 
fringe of pinos straggling down to cover the lower 
reaches of the valley. 

The distant beat of hoofs came to her now through 
the still, clear air and presently a string of riders came 
out of a gully, moving slowly away from her toward 
the forest. Carefully she counted. There were 
seven, and with a stifled cry of thankfulness she 
dropped down beside the window, her face falling 
forward on her hands which rested on the sill. 

For a space she crouched there, completely ex¬ 
hausted by the strain, with room in her heart for 
nothing save an overflowing gratitude at her escape. 
Then swiftly in her mind a canker reared its mush¬ 
room growth, poisoning her new-found peace with its 
hateful possibilities, its fatal sense of certainty. 

Vividly she saw again that sensual, dark, hand¬ 
some face, the bold eyes fixed on her with a glance as 
insolent as a physical caress. In a flash she was on 
her feet, face pale, eyes wide with terror and dismay. 
So far as the incident of John Blake was concerned 
it was quite possible that she had sent the outlaws 
away deceived and hoodwinked to pursue their fruit¬ 
less search for a man already dead. Nevertheless, 
she was only too horribly certain that sooner or later 
one, at least, of them would return! 



CHAPTER V 


THE YELLOW LURE 


^ROSS the bare table, just cleared of supper 



dishes, Colonel Rives thoughtfully regarded 
his daughter. He had an oddly arresting face — 
lean, wrinkled, deeply tanned, in which a subtle trace 
of Kentucky breeding and distinction had surprisingly 
survived the wear and tear of ten years’ struggle 
against the crude, raw forces of man and nature in 
this remote and difficult mountain wilderness. The 
nose was straight and generous in size; the mouth 

kindly, though at times a little hard. The eyes- 

It was in his eyes that Ellis Rives chiefly betrayed 
his character. Dark, liquid brown, set well apart, 
slumberous for the most part, yet they turned almost 
black and glowed with a consuming inner fire in 
moments when he was aroused. 

Such moments Shirley had come to dread. She 
had seen that glow when, a little girl of nine, her 
father told her that their comfortable competence 
was lost, their home gone, that she must go to live 
with her Aunt Emmeline while he went forth into 
the world to make a living for them both. 

To her it had been a moment of supreme tragedy. 
She passionately loved the rambling, mellow red brick 
house set on a gentle slope above the murmuring river 
where she had been born and where her forebears 


30 



The Yellow Lure 


31 


had lived out their lives for generations. The 
thought of leaving it for Aunt Emmeline — prim 
precise, narrow, domineering—was hateful. And 
yet her father’s manner as he broke the news was 
of one who, after toilsome years of slavery, at last 
wins freedom. 

It was not until years afterward that she under¬ 
stood, if indeed she ever did fully understand. In 
Ellis Rives the spirit of the old Forty-Niners lived 
again. In a way he was dominated by the lust for 
gold, but, curiously, the means and not the end 
seemed paramount. It was the chance, the risk, the 
lure, the seeking, which fascinated. He had left 
Kentucky for the West where for years he wandered 
through the mountains, always seeking, rarely finding, 
never discouraged. Now and again he would pan out 
from the sands of some remote stream enough dust 
to keep him going, though Shirley guessed that for 
the most part the small annuity he had inherited was 
all that stood between him and starvation. 

The death of her aunt when the girl was seventeen 
had sent her to him. She took the step of her own 
accord, fearful of opposition, determined that at least 
they would be together, hopeful that in some way she 
might soften the hardships of the life he was leading. 

The arrangement had been unexpectedly successful. 
Shirley was adaptable, and when she had accustomed 
herself to the strangeness and crudity of their life, 
she found herself surprisingly happy. The first year 



32 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


had been divided between two locations in the north¬ 
ern part of the state. Then they journeyed south, 
drawn by the alluring legend of the lost Squaw Mine, 
which stirred the colonel’s enthusiasm to a white heat. 
With that ominous fanatical light in his eyes, he had 
assured his daughter that at last success was certain. 
He passed lightly over the failures of a generation. 
None of those other searchers had been men of 
mental ability, able to reason and deduce. All that 
was needed was a proper application of intelligence 
to the problem and it would be solved — or so he 
said. 

Though Shirley was more than dubious, she made 
no protest. Long ago she had learned the futility 
of trying to influence her father in this particular 
regard. After some w T eeks of traveling they found 
and took possession of an abandoned cabin on the 
mountainside northwest of Elk Ford, which became 
habitable, and, gradually, even comfortable; and here 
a new phase of her life began. 

It was not as lonely as might have been supposed, 
considering the remoteness of the situation and total 
lack of neighbors. Shirley busied herself about the 
house, took long rides, occasionally with her father, 
and interested herself in adding little improvements 
and conveniences to the place. Perfectly at home in 
the saddle, she had become an expert shot with both 
rifle and revolver. Indeed, most of the game that 
graced their table was due to her skill. 



The Yellow Lure 


33 


But there were moments of discouragement, almost 
of depression, in which she wondered to what it was 
all leading. Was she to be forever doomed to this 
restless, nomadic life, without friends of her own age 
and class, or any of the innocent normal pleasures of 
young girlhood? Even supposing—and of this she 
never had much real hope — her father succeeded in 
making a big strike, would he be content to settle 
down quietly and sanely and enjoy the product of his 
toil? She feared not, and as the time passed her 
naturally sweet nature developed a slight occasional 
bitterness, and there grew up within her a vehement 
hatred for that luring golden phantom which bade 
fair to be the ruin of them both. 

At no time had that hatred been as keen and 
implacable as at this moment. Sunk wearily in her 
chair, chin resting on cupped palms, her lovely eyes 
ringed with shadows of strain and toil and rending 
emotion, she watched her father with an apprehension 
that was almost fear. His eyes glowed, his lined 
face flushed with excitement; the long fingers of one 
out-thrust hand trembled slightly. 

“ We must get rid of that horse, my dear,” he said 
abruptly. 

Shirley stared. “ The — the sorrel ? ” 

“Yes. They’ve seen it. They know it. If it 

should be found in our possession-” 

“ But there are*other sorrels,” she interrupted 
hastily. “He has no special mark. Besides, they 




34 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


only got a glimpse of him in the dusk.” 

Colonel Rives drummed the table with nervous 
fingers. “Nevertheless, it isn’t safe,” he told her 
firmly. “There’s too much at stake. How do we 
know they don’t already suspect us? The horse 
would be convincing proof that Blake was here.” 

Shirley’s thoughts swept for an instant to that 
lonely grave hastily dug beneath the willows and 
then to the handsome head and speaking eyes of the 
sorrel, whom she had fed and watered less than art 
hour before. How still he had been, how amazingly, 
incredibly silent at a moment when the slightest sound 
from him would have betrayed her. Somehow she 
felt he must know and understand, and she loved 
him for it and for his gentle, friendly ways. 

“I don’t see how—” she began, her forehead 
crinkling and then perceived her father’s glance rest¬ 
ing on the rifle standing in a corner. “ No! ” she 
cried vehemently. “ I won’t have it! He — he loved 
the horse, Dad, and asked me to be kind to it. It’s 
little enough, isn’t it, considering—everything?” 

Colonel Rives regarded her with surprise, tinctured 
with disapproval. “You mustn’t allow sentiment to 
blind your commonsense, my dear,” he observed 
firmly. “ I don’t believe you quite appreciate the 
character of this Saddle Butte gang. They’re clever, 
persistent and entirely unscrupulous. Human life is 
nothing to them. If you could know some of the 
things I’ve heard— They know that Blake had 



The Yellow Lure 


35 


gold in his possession and must have made a rich 
strike. They want that gold, and even more they 
want to find out where it came from. If they knew 
that he so much as stopped here and talked with you 
we should be under suspicion. The discovery that he 
died in your very arms would make them certain he 
passed his knowledge on to you, and would bring 
about a situation I shudder to contemplate.” 

“Dad!” begged Shirley, her face flushed and eyes 
suddenly soft and tender. “ Why couldn’t we escape 
the danger and those — hateful men by going away. 
Let’s leave this place at once — tomorrow! There’d 
be time. And we could go back to — to-” 

She faltered and grew silent under the look of 
shocked amazement her father bent upon her. 

“ I’m astonished you should suggest such a thing! ” 
he told her sternly. “ Can you seriously believe that 
now, after a lifetime of searching, on the very 
threshold of success, I’d consider— There’s really 
no danger — or very little — if you’ll only listen to 
reason. Blake is buried, the gold hidden, the paper 
beyond the reach of anyone. Tomorrow I shall burn 
the saddle. No trace will then remain of the entire 
incident except the horse. With that out of the way 
we can rest comfortable and assured.” 

Shirley sank back in her chair, the glow and 
sparkle fading from her face. She might have known 
how utterly futile her suggestion was, but she had 
been moved to make it by a sudden wave of such 




36 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


wild, almost frantic longing to escape the coils which 
seemed, somehow, to be tightening about her, that it 
seemed as if he must feel it and give way. 

“ Very well,” she agreed listlessly. “ Only I won’t 
have him shot. There’s a place I know of back in 
the mountains — a little hidden canon with grass and 
water where no one can ever find him. I’ll tie him 
up there tomorrow and every day I’ll go and see him 
and change the rope.” 

The colonel was extremely dubious as to the prac¬ 
ticability of such a scheme and argued against it. But 
Shirley remained firm, and in the end he was forced 
to give in. At least if the horse did manage to break 
away later and was discovered by the outlaws, they 
need not necessarily connect him with the Rives 
cabin. 



CHAPTER VI 

FOLLOWED 

I N THE morning Colonel Rives saw to it that his 
daughter lost no time in setting forth. He him¬ 
self had been up since before dawn making prepara¬ 
tions for that momentous trip to the source of Wind 
River and beyond, and his manner as he said fare¬ 
well was a mingling of preoccupation and veiled 
excitement. 

“ I may be off before you’re back,” he told Shirley 
as he placed the sorrel’s halter in her hand. “Take 
good care of yourself while I’m away. It’s possible 
I’ll be gone a week or even longer.” 

The girl’s eyes darkened with sudden anxiety. 
“ Do be careful, Dad! ” she begged. “ It seems such 
a risk going alone into that wilderness for so long. 
Suppose you had an accident, or— I — I wish I might 
go with you.” 

“That wouldn’t be possible, of course. But you 
mustn’t worry. I’m used to this sort of thing, you 
know. And when I get back I’ve every hope that — 
that the dreams of years will have come true.” 

His voice shook with emotion; his eyes glowed like 
live coals in his lined and weatherbeaten face. When 
Shirley had bent out of the saddle to kiss him, she 
straightened with a little sigh and touched the roan 
with her heel. 


37 


38 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“Good-bye!” she called over one shoulder, when 
the horse had taken a dozen strides. “ Don’t be too 
long.” 

There was no answer. Turning in the saddle she 
saw her father hurrying away toward the shed where 
the pack horse stood, partially loaded. Already he 
was oblivious to her presence. She bit her lips and 
swallowed hard. Then with an effort she regained 
her composure. 

“ After all, it isn’t his fault, poor dear,” she mur¬ 
mured loyally. “He can’t help feeling as he does; 
it’s like a sort of fever, I expect. I know he truly 
loves me, and down in his heart he probably thinks 
all the time he’s working and slaving for me alone.” 

Reaching the trail she turned her horse westward 
and urged him forward. The sunshine was warm 
and caressing; the brilliant sky filled with fluffy, idly 
drifting clouds, the distant peaks stood out sharply 
distinct in the crystal air. There was warmth and 
color everywhere; even the dark sweep of pines 
seemed to hold a deeper, richer green than usual. 

But at the moment Shirley was too absorbed to 
notice and appreciate such details. As she sped along 
the narrow trail her glance swept keenly from one 
side to the other. Once she jerked the roan to a 
sudden halt and stared suspiciously at an odd shaped 
mass of rocks ahead. When she realized that it was 
only a shadow that had startled her she gave a little 
sigh of relief and loosed the reins again. 



Followed 


39 


At a point about half a mile from the cabin she 
turned abruptly to the right into a narrow, shallow 
gulch which seemed at first sight merely a scratch in 
the rugged mountainside. But as she pushed her 
horse steadily forward the walls gradually widened 
and heightened until at length the girl was riding 
through a fair sized canon well out of sight of any 
portion of the trail. 

From now on Shirley’s manner grew more assured 
and she ceased to cast those troubled, anxious 
glances from side to side. After all, what cause had 
she to fear that she would be spied upon? Saddle 
Butte was a good twenty miles away and to cover 
that distance in time to catch her, a man would have 
to start long before dawn. Besides, since yesterday 
morning she had seen no sign of Mogridge and his 
gang, who had evidently returned by some other 
route. 

“ If they suspected I was hiding something they’d 
have come back long ago,” she decided. “ When they 
found no trace of Blake along the trail they may have 
decided to give up the search. After all, if he hadn’t 
been so desperately wounded he could easily have got 
safely away.” 

With rising spirits she steadily followed the 
intricacies of the way. Presently the canon merged 
into one running nearly at right angles, which in turn 
led by a gradual but steady grade over a shoulder 
of the pine-covered slope and down into another 



40 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


gulch on the other side. At last a final turn took her 
into a rock-bound nook which glowed like a brilliant 
emerald in its somber granite setting. 

Fed by a sparkling spring that bubbled up at the 
upper end of the little hidden valley, a tiny brooklet 
meandered along its entire length to disappear into a 
curious cavity in the rocks just below the entrance. 
A score or more of willows lined its banks and 
beneath them the ground was carpeted with a rich 
luxuriance of green. 

Both horses at once made for the water, and while 
they were drinking Shirley dismounted, and still hold¬ 
ing the sorrel by its bridle, glanced about for a suit¬ 
able place in which to tether him. She decided on 
one of the willows near at hand. The rope was long 
enough to give him considerable range over the rich 
grass and multitude of small bushes, while at no time 
could he possibly lack water. With deft fingers she 
uncoiled the rope, and, fastening one end to the 
willow trunk, attached the other to the sorrel’s halter. 

“ It’s a pity you have to be tied at all,” she mur¬ 
mured, stroking the animal’s neck with her gloved 
hand. “ I’m afraid, though, if I didn’t you’d get 
lonely and wander away.” 

The sorrel raised his dripping nozzle and regarded 
her with soft, curiously intelligent eyes. From the 
first he had shown a gentleness and tractability far 
beyond the girl’s experience with western horses. It 
convinced her that Blake must have made a pet, even 



Followed 


41 


a companion, of the animal, as in his lonely wander¬ 
ings he was quite likely to do, and the realization 
seemed somehow to emphasize the tragedy. 

“You darling!’’ she said huskily, a little catch in 
her voice. Impulsively she lifted one hand to stroke 
his crinkly mane and laid her cheek against his smooth 
neck. “ It’s awfully hard, I know, but there’s no 
other way,” she whispered. “You must be patient 
and I’ll try to make up by coming every single day 
to see you.” 

The sorrel rubbed his velvet nose against her 
shoulder, and then, with horrible suddenness, the 
peaceful stillness of the glade was broken as by a 
bombshell. 

“ Good mornin’, ma’am,” drawled a cool, slightly 
amused masculine voice. “Ain’t you wastin’ an awful 
lot of affection on a hawss?” 

An icy chill swept over Shirley, paralyzing her 
muscles, making it impossible for an instant for her to 
even stir. Then, shoulder pressing against the neck 
of the sorrel, fingers tangled spasmodically in his 
mane, she slowly turned her head. 

Not more than twenty feet away stood a cream- 
colored horse, superb in build, almost startlingly 
beautiful of line. Lounging negligently in the saddle 
with lithe, unconscious grace, was a man of twenty- 
three or four, slim of flank, wide of shoulder, with 
clean-cut features deeply tanned and a pair of cool, 
level gray eyes that seemed to be regarding her with 



42 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


sardonic amusement. 

As she recognized those eyes, the jauntily tilted 
hat, the whole air of careless competence and perfect 
self-assurance, the girl was smitten with a sudden sick 
sensation and her face blanched. 

It was the man in that Saddle Butte gang they had 
called Moran! 



CHAPTER VII 

THE LOSING BATTLE 


“00 YOU followed me,” she said slowly, voicing 
O almost without realization the thought which 
had flashed into her mind. 

Her voice was low and rather husky, with a faint, 
scarcely perceptible tremor in it. Moran nodded 
coolly, his lips parting briefly over a row of perfect 
teeth. 

“ Shore,” he returned equably. “ When I saw yuh 
leadin’ that hawss, I got kinda curious. Yuh see, he 
looks powerful like that cayuse of Blake’s.” 

Her pounding heart drove the blood back into the 
girl’s face a crimson flood. A wave of despair swept 
over her mingled, incongruously, with a spasm of hot 
anger that this man should have followed and spied 
upon her and discovered, as she was only too un¬ 
happily convinced, the secret. It was the anger which 
chiefly stung her, rousing to life the valiant fighting 
spirit of her forebears who, in their several days, 
had more than once given battle against overwhelm¬ 
ing odds. Though the situation seemed almost hope¬ 
less she did not mean to give in without a struggle. 

“Does he, indeed?” she countered, pulling herself 
together with a sheer effort of will. 

“He shore does,” drawled the outlaw. “Might 

almost be his twin brother-” 

43 



44 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


He broke off with a shrug. Shirley’s chin went up 
and her eyes narrowed. “ Or the horse himself, I 
suppose you mean,” she finished calmly. “ Of course 
you ought to know better than I. You’ve seen this 
— er—Blake’s horse, I believe.” 

Moran’s eyes crinkled at the corners. His face 
wore an expression which made Shirley long to smite 
him. 

“ Meanin’ that you haven’t?” he inquired lazily. 
“This sorrel belongs to you, then?” 

“ I didn’t say that. On the contrary, if it did, I’d 
hardly be tying him up so far from home as this.” 

The man straightened slightly, a look of interest 
flashing into his gray eyes. “ It would be kind of a 
long spell to go for grazin’,” he admitted. “O’ 
course if yor’re lookin’ to hide the hawss-” 

“Perhaps I am. I’ve been in the West long 
enough to know that the possession of a strange 
horse, even if one should find him running loose, is 
apt to lead to difficulties. He’s such a friendly beast 
that I’ve taken a liking to him. If I knew the owner 
I’d — try to buy him, but since I don’t-” 

Mainly to avoid the probing scrutiny of his gray 
eyes, she turned and patted the sorrel’s neck. 

“You mean yuh found him runnin’ loose — with¬ 
out a saddle?” he questioned searchingly. “ Kinda 
funny what became of that. If Blake keeled over 
from them shots, it ain’t at all likely he’d take it off.” 

Shirley gave a slight shrug and stepping over to 





Tht Losing Battle 


45 


the roan, picked up the bridle. “ Probably not. The 
animal might have wandered away while he was mak¬ 
ing camp, though. You see, he has a halter on.” 

Conscious that Moran was still watching her 
closely, she swung lightly into the saddle, gathered 
up the reins and then hesitated. What to do ? Should 
she take the sorrel back or leave him here. Evidently 
the outlaw divined something of her difficulty. 

“Gonna leave him?” he inquired. 

With an effort she met his glance squarely. “ I 
meant to,” she said quietly. “ I thought he’d be safe 
and if the owner ever turned up I could show 
him this place. But now it doesn’t seem much use.” 

“Now? Oh, I get yuh.” His eyes crinkled. 
“ Meanin’ now that I’m wise, eh? That shore does 
make a difference, don’t it? Still an’ all, I wouldn’t 
fret none about my runnin’ off with the cayuse. I got 
a perfectly good string o’ my own.” 

That possibility had not been in Shirley’s mind, 
and she knew he knew it. The feeling that he was 
deliberately playing with her roused the girl, in spite 
of the trouble and anxiety she was suffering, to a 
fresh irritation. Setting her lips, she touched the 
roan with her heel and rode toward the valley 
entrance without a backward glance. 

Though she kept her eyes set straight ahead, she 
was aware that the outlaw had turned and was fol¬ 
lowing her. And all the way back to the trail, though 
neither of them spoke a word, she knew that he kept 



46 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


close behind her. If only she had the least notion 
of what was in his mind! Had he been deceived, 
she wondered desperately — with once or twice a 
little stab of disgust and self-contempt at the false¬ 
hoods she had uttered — or was he still suspicious? 
What was going to happen when they reached the 
trail? 

The latter question was at length answered. 
Through the narrow, winding defiles, where it was 
difficult, often impossible, to ride in any way save 
single file, Moran made no attempt to come closer. 
As they emerged onto the trail, however, he ranged 
his beautiful, cream-colored horse alongside the girl. 

“ I got a powerful thirst, ma’am,” he commented 
in a curiously impersonal tone. “ If yo’re goin’ home, 
I’ll come along an’ sample that spring.” 

Briefly she acquiesced. There was little else to do, 
and after all, she reflected, there was nothing sus¬ 
picious now about the cabin for prying eyes to find. 
But as they left the trail and rode up to the log 
building the girl’s heart sank at the sight of the still 
smouldering heap of blackened ashes over by the 
corral. That was where her father had started to 
burn the saddle. Suppose he had gone away — as 
would be quite likely in his haste to make a start — 
and left some little incriminating buckle or scrap of 
unburnt leather to betray them? 

Apparently Moran’s suspicions were not yet 
aroused. Indeed, he scarcely glanced at the smould- 



Tht Losing Battle 


47 


ering heap, which unfortunately lay a little to one 
side of the path leading from the cabin to the spring. 
Shirley’s first impulse was to supply the man’s wants 
from the water keg in the house. Then she remem¬ 
bered that this was empty. In her haste that morning 
she had brought in only enough for coffee and the 
dishes. 

There was nothing left but to take a chance — 
nothing, that is, save a final pitiful effort to distract 
the outlaw’s attention as best she could. As she 
dismounted Shirley glanced up at him. 

“The spring’s over yonder,” she told him with 
assumed carelessness. “ If you’ll come in I’ll give 
you a cup.” 

Though she feared and hated him, it was a very 
different quality of emotion from the terror and 
loathing which Spike Mogridge inspired in her. 
Without pausing to analyze it, she had a feeling that 
in certain ways at least he could be trusted. 

A flash of surprise leaped into his eyes and was 
gone. Without comment he swung out of the saddle 
and followed her into the cabin. As she brought out 
the cup she was conscious of his searching, curious 
glance sweeping the room, but she pretended not 
to see. 

With a word of thanks he took the cup and walk¬ 
ing over to the spring, knelt and drank deeply. 
Through the crack of the door she watched him 
rinse the tin vessel and, rising, stroll slowly back 



48 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


across the uneven ground. 

Suddenly her heart leaped and the color left her 
face. He had paused and was staring at the pile of 
ashes from which a thin wisp of smoke rose straight 
upward. Almost strangled by the rapid thudding of 
her heart, the girl stood motionless, one hand grip¬ 
ping the edge of the heavy door. Aghast she saw 
him walk over to where the fire had been and stir 
the ashes with one foot. Suddenly he bent and picked 
up something from the ground, and as Shirley recog¬ 
nized it as a blackened cinch ring a wave of utter 
despair swept over her. 

The man regarded it closely for a moment, a 
sardonic smile curving his thin lips. Then he dropped 
it into the ashes and strode on toward the house. 

“ I’m obliged to yuh, ma’am,” he said slowly, 
handing back the cup. He hesitated an instant, his 
gaze fixed steadily on her face. “Yore father get 
back?” 

“ Y-y-yes,” she stammered. “ He — went off again 
this morning, though. “ I don’t know just when 
— he’s coming back.” 

For a moment or two he stood looking at her, a 
curious, enigmatic expression in his gray eyes. 
Utterly undone, Shirley stared back with something 
of the frightened fascination a bird has for a snake. 
She would have given the world to be able to pull 
herself together and show some spirit, but she felt 
weak, nerveless, as if both brain and muscles had 



The Losing Battle 


49 


been suddenly stricken powerless. If only he 
would speak and not stand staring at her in that 
strange way. 

“ Well, good-bye, ma’am.” At last his voice broke 
the strained silence. “ I’ll likely see yuh again.” 

She made shift to answer in some fashion; after¬ 
ward she could not remember what she said. When 
he had disappeared, and even after the thud of his 
horse’s hoofs had died away along the trail, she stood 
where he had left her, leaning against the table limp 
and despairing. 

Her fight had been quite useless. Those lies — for 
she felt them as much lies as if she had spoken de¬ 
liberate untruths instead of making mere evasions — 
had been of no avail. He knew; and he was going 
straight back to Saddle Butte to tell! 



CHAPTER VIII 

DAN MORAN 

S PEEDING westward along the trail, his lithe, 
long-limbed body swaying slightly to the easy, 
rhythmic motion of the cream-colored horse, Dan 
Moran’s expression had lost something of its cool 
inscrutability. His eyes sparkled; under the clear tan 
of his lean, hard face glowed a slightly deeper note 
of color than usual. Once or twice the thin, firm 
lips parted briefly over two rows of white teeth as if 
he were thinking of something that pleased or amused 
him. 

“That’s Blake’s sorrel,” he muttered presently, 
reaching absently for tobacco sack and papers. 
“There ain’t a doubt of it.” 

Deftly rolling a cigarette, he replaced the bag in 
the pocket of his flannel shirt and flicked the end of a 
match into flame with his thumb-nail. 

“That was his saddle they burned there, too,” he 
went on reflectively, between deep inhalations on the 
cigarette. “ Folks don’t go burnin’ up saddles with¬ 
out they got somethin’ to hide. If they’re wore out 
an’ useless they jest pitch ’em into the brush.” 

Suddenly his eyes crinkled at the corners. “ Some 
looker, all right,” he commented, “ but not much good 
with the fancy spiels.” He gave a chuckle. “ Won¬ 
der if she thought she fooled me with that yarn? 
50 


Dan Moran 


51 


She knew it was Blake’s horse all along, an’ she didn’t 
find him wanderin’ loose with no saddle on, neither.” 

Into his mind there flashed a sudden, vivid mem¬ 
ory of that slim, girlish figure leaning against the 
sorrel’s shoulder, her dusky, glowing cheek pressed 
against his neck. That, at least, had not been acting, 
for one doesn’t act without an audience, and at that 
moment she had been quite unconscious of his 
presence. Abruptly he frowned. 

“Shucks!” he grunted, banishing the picture with 
a deliberate effort. u That don’t cut no figger. 
Blake’s hawss an’ saddle,” he ruminated; “an’ Blake 
last seen back there by the Needles headin’ this way. 
Plugged, too, or so Spike says. He’d have time to 
make that cabin well ahead of the bunch. I wonder, 
now? There was another room-” 

But that possibility was soon abandoned. If the 
girl and her father had harbored the wounded miner 
they were scarcely likely to both go away leaving the 
cabin unlocked and unguarded. The remembrance of 
their visit yesterday came to him and he mentally con¬ 
trasted the desperate fight the girl had made to 
exclude Mogridge, with her willingness this morning 
to admit Moran. 

“ O’ course it might ’a’ been the way Spike carried 
on,” he conceded, his lips curling disgustedly. “ Spike 
always is a fool with wimmin. On the other 
hand-” 

On the other hand, she might have had an even 





52 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


more vital reason for wishing to keep them out. 
Blake might have been there then. 

“ But if he was, an’ ain’t there now, where’s he 
gone to leavin’ hawss an’ saddle behind?” cogitated 
Moran. “ He might of borrowed or bought a hawss, 
but there wouldn’t be no sense takin’ a different sad¬ 
dle even if the old man had a spare one, which ain’t 
likely. An’ why burn the saddle when it could be hid 
in the brush. If he made a big strike like it looks, 
Blake wouldn’t be stayin’ away from these parts for 
good. Sooner or later he’d be back to work his 
claim, an’ then the saddle would be as much use to 
him as ever.” 

Turning the matter thus over in his mind, Moran 
swiftly reached the conclusion that the reason the 
saddle had been destroyed was that Blake would 
never need it, or any other, again. He had not been 
present at the encounter two nights before over the 
other side of the Needles. But when he ran into the 
gang unexpectedly about an hour later on his way 
back from Clayton, Spike assured him that the miner 
had been shot through the body and could hardly sit 
his horse. Evidently he had managed to get as far as 
the cabin, and there- 

The outlaw shrugged his shoulders indifferently. 
To him it was merely a passing incident of no great 
moment. His chief emotion was chagrin at the real¬ 
ization that in all probability the man they sought 
had lain dying or already dead within a few feet of 




Dan Moran 


53 


them while a mere girl held them off with specious 
evasions and finally sent them away on a wild-goose 
:hase. What loomed biggest and most important in 
his mind was the conviction that at some time or 
Dther before he cashed in, Blake must have revealed 
his secret. 

Everything pointed toward that conclusion. The 
burning of the saddle, the hiding of the horse, the 
girl’s evident terror as he parted from her — she had, 
he presumed, been watching his investigation of the 
ashes and guessed that the game was up — above all, 
the hurried departure of old Rives, supported this 
theory. The girl and her father knew, and 
Mogridge, in sending him over that morning to spy 
about, hadn’t been so entirely off the trail as Dan 
supposed. 

Curiously enough, after the first thrill of triumph, 
Moran’s enthusiasm swiftly cooled. It was one thing 
to feel sure that this girl had been the recipient of 
the miner’s deathbed revelations, and quite another 
to extract that information from her. She did not 
seem like a person who would yield readily to 
persuasion or even force. If she were a man, now! 

Moran’s lips straightened. He had never had 
much to do with women, but all his life he had been 
accustomed to dealing decisively with men. Indeed, 
ever since that bitter time nine years or more ago 
when the stupid, uncalled-for violence of a bigoted, 
intolerant sheriff had sent him forth into the wilds 



54 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


to nurse an ever-growing hatred for all humanity and 
civilization, he had been increasingly noted for his 
cold, callous, utterly unfeeling treatment of his own 
sex, especially as represented by the forces of law and 
order. But a girl- 

“Hell!” he growled, angry at himself for the 
unaccustomed feeling that stirred him. “ Spike’ll do 
the trick. He’s got a way with wimmin.” 

But somehow that didn’t quite satisfy him or ease 
his mind, either. He was only too familiar with 
Mogridge’s “way with women,” which, along with 
certain other of the leader’s traits did not agree with 
Moran’s own rough, peculiar but very definite code 
of ethics. He might extract the desired information 
from the girl, or—he might not. In either case the 
process involved, as pictured in Moran’s mind, did 
not please him. 

The remainder of his ride back to Saddle Butte 
did not pass agreeably. Moran followed the trail 
through the Needles without his usual appreciative 
glance at the wild, exotic beauty of those massive, 
towering, yet curiously delicate rocky spires. The 
wide spreading view opening up beyond — a far- 
reaching sweep of rugged, rock-bound country, sof¬ 
tened here and there by the spreading pines or narrow 
splashes made by verdant valleys, moved him not at 
all. He merely gave a searching, oddly speculative 
glance at Saddle Butte, its dark square massive bulk 
sharply outlined against the blue six miles or so 




Dan Moran 


55 


away. Then, tilting his hat sidewise against the sun, 
he mechanically rolled and lit another cigarette. 

An hour later as he neared the low, sprawling 
ranch house surrounded by innumerable small log 
buildings and corrals that nestled under the sheer, 
towering precipice of the butte, his manner was much 
as usual. Hat tilted jauntily, cigarette dangling from 
the corner of his mouth, long, lithe figure swaying in 
such perfect unison with the movement of the big 
horse, so that they two seemed one, he made an 
arresting picture. There was something about him, 
too, in spite of the hardness of his lean face, the cold¬ 
ness of his eyes, the slight, sneering curve of firm lips, 
which had a subtly suggestive charm — the charm, 
perhaps, of youth and strength and buoyant health, 
of quiet, perfect self-assurance. One felt him to be 
the dominating, decisive type, able to take care of 
himself under any sort of stressful circumstances, and 
to handle with ease and resource the most difficult 
of situations. 

Usually he was all that and more. In the present 
instance, however, he was unwontedly at sea, and 
that curious inner uncertainty and lack of decision 
annoyed and irritated him beyond measure. Gen¬ 
erally so swift and sure and definite, his mind for the 
past two hours had been aggravatingly swinging back 
and forth like a pendulum. At one moment it seemed 
a matter of course that he should at once unfold to 
Mogridge’s eager ears the knowledge he had gained. 



56 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


At another he hesitated. And what chiefly made him 
so furious with himself was the realization that his 
reasons for that hesitation were the vaguest and most 
illusive. 

Outwardly serene and carelessly confident of man¬ 
ner; inwardly still debating as to what he meant to 
do, Moran rode slowly past the outflung corrals and 
on toward a group of men gathered at one end of 
the ranch house. He picked out Mogridge’s tall 
figure before the leader was aware of his approach, 
and wondered absently how he had managed to get 
back so soon from driving that bunch of rustled 
steers through the Gap to the shipping pens at Silver- 
town. But all the while his mind was engaged in 
that aggravating seesawing. To tell, or not to tell! 
Did he mean to open his mind or to keep silent. 
And then abruptly he saw that Mogridge had turned 
and was watching his leisurely approach. 

Though Spike’s impatience for news was evident 
even at this distance, Dan made no attempt to gratify 
it. That serene, cool independence was one of the 
ways in which he kept the leader guessing. Others 
of the band might, and often did, jump at Mogridge’s 
slightest word to try and curry favor, but Moran’s 
personal allegiance to the chief outlaw had ever been 
of the slightest. Though he never shirked, he had 
always sworn than no man should own him, and while 
Spike found that attitude irritating at times, it uncon¬ 
sciously added to the respect he gave this youngster, 



Dan Moran 


57 


whose amazing skill with the six-gun had earned him 
years before the sobriquet of “ Lightning.” 

At the present moment, though he swore luridly at 
Moran’s dawdling, his impatience drove him forward 
to meet the younger man and they came together in 
the open twenty feet or more from the lounging 
group. 

“Well?” snapped out Spike, as Dan halted the 
cream-colored horse with a slight movement of his 
hand. “Did yuh see the girl? What’d yuh find 
out?” 

He was sweaty, dust-streaked and travel stained. 
In the somewhat bloodshot eyes was a gleam of 
passion. The full red lips, parted a little, were 
slightly moist. For a fraction of a second Moran 
surveyed him with cool appraisal. Then he 
shrugged his shoulders. 

“ Nothin’,” he answered calmly. 



CHAPTER IX 


THE LIE 


HAT moved him to the lie, he still could not 



VV quite tell. It might have been the fleeting 
memory of another pair of eyes lifted to his — clear, 
warmly brown, shadowed by a wavy mass of dully 
copper hair — in which stark terror mingled with a 
touch of veiled, unconscious pleading. At any rate, 
having uttered the untruth, Moran was conscious of 
a feeling of elation and relief — an odd realization 
that he could not possibly have taken any other stand. 

“ Nothin’! ” snarled Mogridge, his face flaming. 
“ Hell! What d’yuh mean by that? Didn’t yuh see 
the girl? ” 

“ Shore. Met her out ridin’. Talked to her a bit 
an’ then went back with her to take a look at the 
cabin. It was as empty as that corral.” 

Mogridge’s eyes narrowed. “ Yuh mean she let 
yuh in? ” 

Moran nodded, his white teeth showing briefly. 
He was beginning to enjoy the situation. 

“ She done more than that. Asked me in an’ gimme 
the loan of a cup to get a drink outa the spring. 
Naturally I used my eyes. There wasn’t a sign of 
any stranger havin’ been there. No hawss anywhere 
around but that roan she rides, an’ no saddle in sight 
but her own. I looked into the shed to make shore.” 


58 


The Lie 


59 


“ That’s powerful funny,” growled Mogridge, 
frowning. “ I was shore there was somthin’ queer 
about that business. We trailed his horse pretty near 
up to the cabin, but beyond it there wasn’t even a 
smell of a track, even in the soft ground along the 
creek.” 

“He might ’a’ crossed above or below further’n 
we looked,” commented Moran equably. 

“Huh! Mebbe. There’s a whole lot of other 
things he might ’a’ done, too,” grunted the outlaw. 
“ I was a fool not to have searched the place yester¬ 
day.” He paused, eyeing Moran sharply. “ I’m 
wonderin’ if that girl got around yuh some way.” 

Moran returned the glance steadily, a subtle hard¬ 
ness freezing into his lean face. “ I wouldn’t, if I 
was you, Spike,” he said coldly. “ I ain’t got yore 
way with females. The lady had mighty little to 
say,” he continued, his manner relaxing a trifle. “ She 
didn’t like me or my bein’ there for a cent, but she 
didn’t try no vampin’ stuff. My notion is she hates 
the whole Saddle Butte crowd, an’ mebbe’s some 
scart of us, but she don’t appear to have anythin’ to 
hide.” 

Spike’s scowl relaxed but his face still showed 
signs of perplexity. “ Yuh may be right,” he admitted 
grudgingly. “Alla same, I wisht I’d gone over there 
myself this mornin’ instead of takin’ them cattle to 
Silvertown. One way or another I’d ’a’ made her 
talk.” His eyes glowed momentarily and he mois- 



60 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


tened his lips. “ It don’t look to me like yuh under¬ 
stood what a big thing we’ve run up against,” he 
went on quickly. “Yuh saw them two nuggets. I 
had the bag in my hands before he grabbed it back 
an’ there wasn’t nothin’ else but nuggets in it — no 
dust to speak of, I mean. When a guy don’t stop to 
pan out dust, it means somethin’, believe me. I 
wouldn’t be surprised none if this here Blake had 
stumbled on somethin’ yuh don’t find the like of 
more’n once in a lifetime.” He paused, and then his 
face lit up with a sudden recollection. “What about 
old Rives? Didn’t yuh see him? He musta got back 
yesterday.” 

Moran nodded. “ He did, an’ was off again this 
mornin’.” 

“Prospectin’, the ol’ fool!” sneered Mogridge. 
“That’s what he’s been up to ever since he landed 
here. Pie’s loco. I’ve kep’ my eyes on him an’ he 
don’t know no more about-” 

He broke off suddenly, his jaw sagging and for an 
appreciable instant stared at Moran, the light of a 
new and startling possibility gleaming in his eyes. 
Accurately Dan followed his train of thought — read, 
too, in the abrupt veiling of expression, his intention 
of keeping it to himself. 

“Which — which way did he go this time?” in¬ 
quired Spike carelessly. He had taken out tobacco 
and papers and his attention seemed centered on the 
careful fashioning of a cigarette. 




The Lie 


61 


“ Yuh got me. I didn’t see him go. The girl told 
me.” 

Mogridge’s drooping lids quivered faintly and his 
heavy jaw hardened. “ Musta got quite chummy,” 
he sneered. “Well! Didn’t she tell yuh where he 
went?” 

“ Nope. Jest said he’d gone. Yuh didn’t say 
nothin’ about wantin’ Rives followed up.” 

Lines of passion rippled swiftly over Mogridge’s 
heavy face and a dull red crept up to the roots of his 
coarse black hair. Alert and watchful, Moran fully 
expected him to burst out in a furious tirade; when 
none came his vigilance was redoubled. 

u Mebbe not,” grunted Mogridge, his voice a little 
husky from the unusual effort he was making for self- 
control. “Well, I’ll look after it from now on. 
Cornin’ in? I’m gonna wash up an’ get me a drink. 
That’s a filthy ride through the Gap.” 

Moran answered in the affirmative and headed his 
horse toward the corral nearest the house. Out of 
the corner of his eye he watched Mogridge stride 
rapidly toward the rear door, his whole bearing elo¬ 
quent of purpose. As he stripped the saddle off the 
cream-colored horse, Dan’s face was thoughtful. 

“ He’s up to somethin’, Bobby, as shore as yo’re a 
heathen,” he muttered, giving the animal a playful 
slap as he turned him loose. 

Picking up the saddle, which, like all of his belong¬ 
ings and apparel, was of costly make and superfine 



62 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


quality, he carried it into the nearby shed and hung 
it carefully on a peg. When he came out he stood 
for a moment staring absently at the ground. 

“ I’d like to know jest what’s millin’ around in his 
mind,” he reflected. “Will he tackle the girl again, 
or is he aimin’ to follow the old man?” 



CHAPTER X 

MORAN TAKES A HAND 

T HOUGH a direct answer to the question did 
not at once present itself, Moran was soon made 
aware that whatever Mogridge’s plans might be, he 
himself was not to have a part in their execution. 
Whether Spike still harbored a suspicion of his loy¬ 
alty, or whether his feeling was merely one of jeal¬ 
ousy toward the man who had met with more con¬ 
sideration than himself from the girl on whom he 
had set his mind, Dan could not tell. At first amused, 
then slightly irritated that Mogridge should think 
him so easily gulled, he listened that night with out¬ 
ward calm to the leader’s rambling discussion of their 
future plans, which contained no reference at all to 
the matter which he knew was uppermost in the 
chief’s mind. 

There was some branding to be done, the sort of 
branding with a hot, curved iron through a wet 
blanket, which was the variety most common nowa¬ 
days at Saddle Butte. A bunch of steers kept in a 
remote and hidden coulee ought to be inspected to 
see if their cleverly altered brands had healed suf¬ 
ficiently to permit shipment. Also Mogridge was 
anxious about a certain check which ought by this 
time to have arrived at the post office at Clayton. 
Moran was not surprised to find himself delegated 
63 


64 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


for this latter duty, nor did he make the least objec¬ 
tion. Spike would manage to get his way somehow, 
and there was no use rousing his suspicions by fruit¬ 
less opposition. Nevertheless, Dan had inwardly 
determined that the leader wasn’t going to have his 
own way this time — not entirely. He would take 
great pleasure in butting in if only to pay up for 
Mogridge’s insultingly low estimate of his sub¬ 
ordinate’s intelligence. 

With this determination, Moran set off early next 
morning for Clayton, Spike’s genial admonition to 
take his time and not to hurry back ringing in his 
ears. The very obviousness of the remark irritated 
him and brought a sneering twist to his lips the 
moment his back was turned. 

“Fool!” he muttered under his breath. “Must 
think I’m as thick as he is! ” 

Mounted on a rangy bay, long-limbed and speedy 
like all the other horses in his string, Moran ate up 
the miles steadily, reaching the sleepy little cow-town 
well before noon. Here the activities of the Saddle 
Butte crowd, though well known, were amiably 
winked at. Mogridge had been wise enough to leave 
the inhabitants of the place severely alone so far as 
his peculations were concerned, and some of them 
were even occasional sharers in the spoil. Thus was 
insured a generally friendly attitude, and what was 
more important a reliable source of information and 
warning. 



Moran Takes a Hand 


65 


Like all the other men, Moran had many friends 
here and as he rode along the single wide street he 
was hard put to escape the constant urgent invita¬ 
tions to dismount and partake of liquid refreshment. 
On the plea of haste he managed to avoid most of 
them, yielding only to the seduction of a pocket flask 
proffered by one of the loungers in front of the gen¬ 
eral store and post office. Finding, with no great 
emotion of surprise, that there was no mail, he 
bought some crackers and a can of potted ham and 
headed back along the trail. 

For a space he told himself that his actions were 
governed solely by an impish, impersonal desire to 
thwart Mogridge. He’d show Spike what a fool he 
was to try and pull wool over his eyes in such a stupid 
manner. But little by little as he rode, other con¬ 
siderations began insensibly to tinge his thoughts. He 
pictured the girl alone there in the cabin and 
Mogridge suddenly appearing, unrestrained by the 
presence of others, even of his own gang. He remem¬ 
bered certain episodes of the past in which Spike 
had figured and his face grew hot. By the time he 
had reached the fork in the trail his lean face was 
like a cold, hard mask in which the steely eyes glit¬ 
tered under narrowed lids. 

Without slackening speed, he turned the bay into 
the right hand trail — that trail which, curving 
around through the long valley, joined at length the 
other leading past the cabin. Two days before they 



66 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


had taken this route back to Saddle Butte, but some¬ 
how this afternoon the distance seemed twice as long 
in spite of the greater speed Moran was making. 

Emerging at length from the pine woods, he rode 
down to the creek where he pulled up and allowed the 
bay to drink sparingly. From the summit of the 
next rise he knew he would be within sight of the 
cabin, and as he urged the horse forward his mind 
grew tumultuously active. 

What met his eager gaze was a scene of placid, 
commonplace serenity. Bathed in the mellow, golden 
glow of the afternoon sun, the cabin and its sur¬ 
roundings presented a picture of tranquil peace and 
security. The visible windows were unshuttered, the 
door ajar. And there in the open, one hand holding 
the bridle of her horse, the soft breeze caressing her 
wavy, coppery hair, stood the girl, alone! 

The let-down was almost like a physical shock, and 
Moran was conscious of a queer mingling of relief 
and chagrin. There had been no need, then, for all 
that disturbing mental agitation. His hurried dash 
with all its accompanying discomfort had been useless. 
He might better have taken his ease at Clayton. 

With a fleeting, whimsical grin twisting his lips, 
Moran loosened the bridle and the horse moved 
slowly forward. Only then it was that he noticed 
a slight yet definite note of tension in the girl’s bear¬ 
ing. She stood with her back toward him, staring 
intently along the trail to the westward, her slim, 



Moran Takes a Hand 


67 


graceful figure motionless, almost rigid. Presently 
the soft curve of her cheek came into view and Dan 
saw that her lips were closely pressed together — saw, 
also, that she was gripping the roan’s bridle with a 
force that brought out a row of white dots across 
the knuckles of her firm brown hand. Then sud¬ 
denly his own horse stepped on a loose stone and 
like a flash she whirled and saw him. 

Surprise, fear, horror flashed into her startled 
eyes and rippled across her tense white face. Then, 
as recognition dawned, a look of unutterable relief 
and thankfulness — a look the man found bewilder¬ 
ing and oddly disconcerting — flamed up for an in¬ 
stant before it, too, was swept away by what was 
evidently a determined effort of will. 

“ Oh! ” she gasped. “ I thought-” 

Abruptly she broke off, and as Moran came toward 
her he was conscious of her steady, searching, ques¬ 
tioning regard. Lifting his hat gravely, he drew rein 
beside her and swung out of the saddle. 

“Yes?” he questioned quietly. “You thought 
_ J” 

For an instant she did not answer. Her eyes were 
still fixed intently on his face. Her free hand clenched 
spasmodically. 

“ I thought — he — had come back,” she told him 
in a low, unsteady voice. 

Moran’s eyes narrowed. “He? Who do yuh 
mean? Has Mogridge been here?” 





68 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Silently she nodded, her lips quivering a little. A 
rush of color surged into Moran’s lean, hard face; 
his gray eyes flamed. 

“You mean—” he grated savagely. “He-” 

“He didn’t see me,” she broke in swiftly. “I’d 
been back in the hills to see Tawny and coming along 
the trail I caught sight of his horse in time. He was 
inside the house then, so I managed to get back into 
the gully and hid. I waited a long time and finally 
tied my horse and crept back toward the trail. He 
was still there, hanging around. He only left an 
hour ago, and so, when I heard your horse, I was 
afraid-” 

Suddenly the hurried flow of words — the impul¬ 
sive outpouring, Dan guessed, of a mind torn, har¬ 
ried, distracted almost to the point of breakdown — 
ceased. An expression of wonder, almost of bewil¬ 
derment came into the girl’s face and she drew her¬ 
self up stiffly. 

“ I don’t know why — why I’m telling you all this,” 
she said coldly, after a momentary pause. 





CHAPTER XI 
“a man like you” 

M ORAN quite ignored her change of tone. “ Pm 
glad yuh did,” he returned curtly. “ I had an 
idea he might try somethin’ like that, an’ I ought to 
have warned yuh. Did he— Did yuh notice 
whether he went off on the jump, or did he ride away 
slow?” 

Shirley did not answer for a second. She was ✓ 
staring at him with widening eyes which held an odd 
expression in their warm, brown depths. When she 
finally spoke her voice was throaty with suppressed 
emotion. 

“He rode slowly; looking about, I suppose, for 
me. I remember because it seemed as if he’d never 
get out of sight. It was a long time before I was 
certain he’d really gone.” 

Moran kicked a pebble and then stared absently 
at the toe of one dusty boot. So that was it! Fail¬ 
ing to find the girl, Mogridge had turned his attention 
to trailing the father. How far he would be success¬ 
ful in this depended altogether on circumstances, but 
at least he would be able to get some idea of the gen¬ 
eral direction taken by Colonel Rives. 

Dan frowned his annoyance and was then aware 
that the girl had taken a sudden step toward him. 

“So — you never told!” she said impulsively. 

69 


70 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Her voice was low and not altogether steady, and 
as Moran’s glance flashed up to meet hers the color 
deepened under his tan. 

“What makes yuh think that?” he drawled, lips 
curving a little at the corners. 

“I don’t think; I know! Why, yesterday, after 
you’d gone, I had a feeling somehow that you 
wouldn’t. And so when — when he came today, it 
seemed so much more hateful-” 

She broke off, eyes veiled suddenly by drooping 
lids. 

For an instant the man stood looking at her in 
silence, the smile wiped from his lips. 

“How—hateful?” he asked presently. “Or per¬ 
haps you’d rather not tell me.” 

“ I don’t know why I shouldn’t.” Her chin went 
up and she met his glance steadily. “ It seemed to 
me hateful, horrible that a man like you could do a 
thing like that.” 

Silence fell — a strange encompassing, palpitating 
silence. “A man like you! ” Moran’s hard, lean 
face had frozen, and through his brain there raced 
madly a series of grotesque, fragmentary memories 
— pictures, or bits of pictures, of events and happen¬ 
ings of the past ten years. His lids drooped, then 
lifted defiantly, and the girl, staring, aghast and fas¬ 
cinated into his smoldering eyes felt for an instant as 
if she were looking at a naked soul — writhing. 

“How do yuh know what kind of a man I am?” 




“A Man Like You” 


71 


he demanded harshly, a dull color creeping to the 
roots of his crisp, thick hair. 

“ I don’t, really,” she faltered. “ It was just a 
feeling I had. You — you may have done things — 
But I’ve a feeling that you’re not like those others.” 

In a flash he had recovered himself and his face, 
though still hard and immobile, was no longer be¬ 
traying. He even forced a smile to his thin lips. 

“ Lemme tell yuh somethin’, ma’am,” he said 
quietly. “ In this country yuh don’t want to be placin’ 
too much trust on yore feelin’s. Yo’re right about my 
not tellin’ ’em what I found out yesterday. That par¬ 
ticular kind of meanness jest happened to stick in my 
crop, that’s all. But I threw in with the Saddle Butte 
crowd with my eyes open, an’ before that there were 
others aplenty.” 

For a moment she stood looking at him in silence, 
her eyes a little wistful. “I — I think perhaps there 
was a reason,” she said quietly at length. 

His mouth hardened and the muscles about his 
jaw twitched. “There most always is a reason, ain’t 
there?” he said in a hard, bitter voice. “When I 
was fourteen a crooked sheriff shot my father down 
in cold blood. Ever since then I’ve been gettin’ 
square with sheriffs an’ rangers an’ the law generally. 
But we’re wastin’ time, ma’am, I’ve gotta be hittin’ 
the trail. Is there any place yuh could go while yore 
father’s away?” 

She shook her head. “ I don’t know anybody. 



72 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


There’s really nobody at all nearer than Clayton, and 
there— Besides, I — I couldn’t leave. I must wait 
for him here.” 

“Uh-huh. Yuh got any notion how long he’ll be 
gone? ” 

“N-o.” She hesitated for an instant. “He said 
it might be a week, or even longer.” 

“I get yuh. Well, listen here. If I find out 
Mogridge is plannin’ to sneak over here again, I’ll do 
my best to head him off, or put yuh wise beforehand.” 

Some of the girl’s bright color faded. “You — 
you think he will?” 

“ I shouldn’t wonder. Yuh see, he’s got the idea 
yuh know more about this John Blake than yuh made 
out, an’ he’s the kind that sticks. So keep yore eyes 
peeled an’ don’t count on me altogether, though I’m 
gonna do my best.” 

“I — I know you will. It’s awfully good of you 
to help me. I’ve tried to be brave and self-reliant, 
but here alone—” Impulsively she reached out and 
for an instant her slim, shapely fingers closed over his 
muscular brown hand. “You’ll never know how 
grateful I am-” 

“ Shucks,” he interrupted gruffly. “ Yuh don’t need 
to be.” He swung lightly into the saddle and gath¬ 
ered up the reins. “When yore father comes back 
it wouldn’t be a bad idea for yuh an’ him to take a 
little trip somewheres ’till this blows over. Well, 
adios!” 




“A Man Like You” 


73 


He touched the bay with his spur and rode away, 
her friendly low-voiced words of farewell lingering 
in his brain. At the top of a rise a hundred yards 
or so beyond, he turned in his saddle and glanced 
back. 

She was standing as he had left her beside the roan 
and as she saw him she flung up one arm in a grace¬ 
ful, boyish gesture of farewell. Moran answered 
with a grin and a wave of his hat but as the bay 
scrambled down into the gully, his lips straightened 
abruptly; his face darkened, his eyes grew somber — 
brooding. 



CHAPTER XII 

TRICKED 


R ELEASED, the angry yearling scrambled to its 
feet, bellowed, lunged tentatively at Greer’s 
pony and then, taking fright at the advance of 
Greer and Mogridge, lumbered across the pen and 
through the gate leading to a small corral in which 
a number of other sore, bewildered steers were 
huddled. 

Squatting on his haunches, Moran thrust the 
curved iron into the heart of a small fire beside him 
and swept one draggled sleeve across his moist fore¬ 
head. 

He was frankly puzzled. It was early afternoon 
of the second day since his parting with Shirley Rives, 
and in that time Mogridge had scarcely been out of 
his sight for fifteen minutes running save when he lay 
snoring in his bunk in the same room. 

Not a word had escaped him, either, concerning 
the Blake episode. To every outward seeming he 
had put it out of his mind for good and all. Yester¬ 
day he and Moran had inspected the cattle in the 
hidden coulee and found them ready to ship. The 
latter fully expected to be given the job and was 
ready to decline it on small pretext or none at all, but 
to his surprise the leader picked on Brodey, one of 
the older men and his special crony, to take charge. 
74 


Tricked 


75 


The bunch departed early the afternoon before and 
had not yet returned, a fact on which Spike com¬ 
mented more than once during a morning devoted to 
the pleasing occupation of “brand blotting.” 

Yet in spite of all this, and of Mogridge’s bluff 
geniality, Moran was perfectly certain that he was 
up to some game. He did not believe for an instant 
that Spike had given up his determination to discover 
somehow the source of John Blake’s gold, much less 
his pursuit of Shirley Rives. For some reason he was 
biding his time to act, awaiting, perhaps, the moment 
when Moran, whom it was evident he now strongly 
distrusted, should be lulled into fancied security. 

“Lemme take a hand with that iron,” suddenly 
suggested Bill Scully, when another steer had been 
roped and thrown. “You hold him, Lightnin’. I 
wanta see what kind of a job I can do.” 

Glad of a change, Moran acquiesced readily 
enough and took the other’s place. Greer dismounted 
to assist with the wet blanket, while Mogridge after 
surveying the operation for an instant, turned his 
horse toward the entrance of the pen. 

“ I’m goin’ up to the house to see if that lazy hound 
Brodey’s turned up yet,” he said over one shoulder. 
“He ought to of been here three hours ago easy. 
Back in a minute.” 

The branding pen and small adjoining corral were 
placed in a rugged little gulch at the foot of the steep 
butte, out of sight— for prudential reasons mainly — 



76 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


of the house and the main approach to the ranch, but 
to a certain extent within hearing distance. Thought¬ 
fully Moran watched Mogridge disappear around the 
outflung ledge of rock. Then the sudden, violent 
struggles of the steer took up his attention. 

“ Let up on it, yuh dumbell! ” he exclaimed, pitting 
weight and muscle against the steer’s frantic efforts 
to escape. “What the devil yuh tryin’ to do, burn 
right through his hide? No wonder he’s on the 
prod.” 

Scully lifted the iron and gawped at a large hole 
freshly burned in the blanket. 

“ I musta pressed a mite too hard,” he grunted. 
“ Shift her, Squint, an’ I’ll have another try.” 

“ Lemme take it,” urged Moran impatiently. “ No 
sense spendin’ the whole afternoon on this yearling.” 

But Scully persisted, and short of letting the steer 
loose Moran was helpless. Inwardly fuming, he 
watched Scully’s slow, bungling movements until a 
sudden thought flashed over him, bringing a glitter to 
his eyes. 

“Yuh get some speed on,” he stated curtly, “or 
I’ll let him loose.” 

Scully whiningly protested that he was doing the 
best he could, but a quick movement on the part of 
Moran brought the operation to a surprisingly swift 
conclusion. When the two men had mounted, Dan 
let go his hold on the animal and moved quickly to¬ 
ward the gate. 



Tricked 


77 


“Where yuh goin’?” inquired Scully, pulling his 
horse up abruptly. 

“ Up to the house,” returned Dan without pausing. 
“ I want to get some tobacco.” 

“Take mine,” proffered the cow man with un¬ 
wonted generosity. 

“ Rather smoke my own,” stated Moran briefly. 

He was convinced by this time that it was a delib¬ 
erate plot to hold him here and he was coldly furious. 
As he reached his cow-pony fastened just outside the 
gate, he noticed that Greer had turned his horse and 
was looking back, while Scully was riding toward the 
gate. 

It looked a little as if they meant to attempt to 
hold him there, and his lips twitched in a grim smile. 
If only they would try! But at that moment the 
steer, escaping from Greer’s inattentive guidance 
dashed back forcing Scully to whirl around and swing 
his rope. By the time they had turned the animal, 
Moran was out of sight. 

Approaching the house Dan noticed Spike’s mount 
standing beside the kitchen door and gained a mo¬ 
mentary satisfaction at the sight of Mogridge’s 
favorite black among the other horses in the corral. 
The trail leading away from the ranch was empty but 
that proved little, for a few hundred yards beyond 
the lower gate it ducked into a canon and was not 
again visible. 

As Moran dismounted at the kitchen door, Bloss 



78 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


the cook stuck his head out. 

“Where’s Spike?” demanded the puncher. 

Bloss scratched his head. “ I dunno exactly,” he 
drawled. “Some’ers inside, I reckon. He come 
through the kitchen a while ago.” 

Without further comment Moran entered and 
walked swiftly through the various rooms of the 
rambling ranch house. He was not surprised to find 
them empty. What did surprise him and brought a 
black scowl to his forehead was the discovery, around 
a little used hitching rack at the far end of the house, 
of ample evidence that a horse had recently been tied 
there for some time. The ground was well trampled, 
the wooden rail freshly chewed, and leading away 
from the spot were marks of hoofs heading straight 
for the trail. 

Moran did not follow them. The thing was plain 
to him now. Mogridge’s suspicions of him had some¬ 
how become certainties. Had he been anyone else 
save Lightning Moran his life would doubtless have 
paid the penalty for interfering in the outlaw leader’s 
plans. As it was, unwilling to use force, Spike had 
taken refuge in strategy. At some time during the 
morning one of the men must have roped and sad¬ 
dled another horse for Mogridge and tied him here 
where no one ever came. Dan suspected it to be the 
powerful, speedy bay called Red Devil, who had been 
turned out with the remuda for nearly a week. When 
Spike left them so casually, he must have ridden 



T ricked 


79 


straight to the kitchen door, hustled through the 
house, mounted the other horse and departed. For 
the first hundred yards or so he had probably ridden 
slowly to prevent any sounds reaching the workers 
in the branding pen. After that- 

Cursing furiously as he recalled the amazing speed 
and endurance of the great bay, Dan left the house 
and sped over to the corral. Catching up the cream- 
colored horse, Bob, he swiftly shifted his saddle, 
mounted, and took the trail, black rage and fury in 
his heart. 

The lower gate was open, and as he dashed 
through a bullet whined past his face to bury itself 
in the post. The sharp crack of a revolver ringing 
in his ears, Moran twisted sidewise and observed 
Scully standing on a slight rise in front of the butte, 
his six-shooter steadied in the crotch of a stunted oak. 

“Shoot, dam’ yuh!” he grated, his lips curling. 
“ Yuh never could hit the broadside of a barn.” 

Nevertheless, the second bullet came unpleasantly 
close, while a third plowed a ridge through the high 
crown of Moran’s Stetson. Dan did not look back 
again even when a spatter of lead seared across his 
cheek just as he was dipping into the canon. His 
face, though hard and set, had lost its cloud of 
gloom; his eyes glowed with a fierce light. 

“ Yo’re pilin’ up trouble, Scull, every time yuh pull 
that trigger,” he muttered grimly. “Lay to it, Bob¬ 
by, ol’ hawss. Yuh gotta do some travelin’ today.” 




CHAPTER XIII 


TO SAVE A GIRL 


HE cream was a splendid, willing beast, fresh 



JL after a day’s rest, and the trail as far as the 
Needles comparatively smooth and easy. Knowing 
what lay beyond, Moran gave the horse full rein and 
passed between the towering monuments of rock less 
than three-quarters of an hour after leaving Saddle 


Butte. 


A steep climb confronted him, rough, uncertain, 
and scattered with boulders and loose rocks, among 
which the trail wound tortuously. It was only the 
beginning of a series of difficult ascents and declivi¬ 
ties, and Moran forced the ever-willing animal to 
take it slowly, pausing briefly at the summit just 
within the shadow of a straggling grove of pines to 
let him get his breath. 

As he sat there his roving glance suddenly caught a 
movement down in the hollow. Swiftly he drew the 
horse farther back into the shelter of the trees and 
pulling his hat brim lower, he stared intently at the 
string of horsemen emerging from a draw that cut 
into the mountains to the northwest. 

There were five of them riding in single file — five 
and a ladened pack horse. They were not more than 
a quarter of a mile away and almost at once Moran 
recognized the foremost as Brodey and his brows 


80 


To Save a Girl 


81 


puckered. Monk Henger followed and behind 
him- 

Moran’s eyes narrowed and he bent forward in the 
saddle. Tall, lean, with shoulders sagging, there was 
something familiar about that figure in spite of the 
fact that Dan had seen the man only once before and 
that at a little distance. 

His lips curled in a mirthless grin. So that was it! 
Knowing Mogridge he might have guessed that Bro- 
dey’s alleged errand to Silvertown was a blind — that 
he and the others had never been near the hidden 
coulee. There was every appearance, too, that Spike 
had been more successful than he supposed in trailing 
his man two days before. 

“Looks as if yuh were the goat again,” he apos¬ 
trophized under his breath. “ Wonder if he’d found 
what he was looking for when they took him? Won¬ 
der if he blabbed?” 

On second thought neither possibility seemed 
likely. Knowing Brodey’s nature, Moran thought it 
highly probable that if he had succeeded in worming 
out of Rives the secret of John Blake’s strike — of 
which by this time Dan was confident both the colonel 
and his daughter were aware — he would never have 
troubled to bring him captive to Saddle Butte. 

“ Mebbe the ol* man’s game,” he muttered. “ I 
shore hope so. Well, he can wait.” 

By this time the riders had reached the trail and 
were passing into the dark splotch of shadow lying 




82 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


between the Needles. Moran waited no longer, but 
turned his horse and urged him forward. 

From now on he did not spare the beast. His rid¬ 
ing, though superb and helpful to the horse at every 
moment, was mechanical. His thoughts were racing 
forward faster than the wind—far faster than the 
lagging miles that crept so slowly under the cream’s 
thudding hoofs. His whole being burned with im¬ 
patience and presently with fear! 

At last the broad, somber stretch of pine, sweep¬ 
ing down along the mountainside, loomed clear and 
distinct ahead. A half mile more and he would 
reach them. Another mile and the racking suspense 
would end. 

Suddenly his quick ear caught the beat of hoofs. 
Indistinct at first, they grew swiftly louder and more 
insistent. Without slackening speed, Moran’s hand 
crept instinctively toward his right thigh. His lean 
face had sharpened; his brilliant, searching eyes were 
like twin sparks. 

All at once over the rise ahead swept a riderless 
horse, head up, reins loose, stirrups flopping. It was 
a roan — her roan! Moran’s teeth grated as he 
gave him room. The cream felt the sharp, unaccus¬ 
tomed stab of a spur, and after a startled leap, re¬ 
sponded nobly. 

Over the rise they swept, down into a hollow, 
across a narrow space of level ground. Up again — 
up, up. Reckless of rolling stones, or jutting but- 



To Save a Girl 


83 


tresses, panting foam-flecked, the splendid horse sped 
on without a pause toward the somber pines which 
seemed to rush to meet them. 

The summit gained at last! At one side of the 
trail, which skirted the pine wood, another horse 
stood motionless. Red Devil! Moran recognized 
him with a snarl. Then, back in the shadows of the 
trees he glimpsed two figures struggling. A cry seared 
through him — faint, piteous, swiftly stifled — that 
turned him into a raging madman. 

Face white and passion-twisted, he spurred the 
horse straight into the wood. As through a crimson 
haze he saw them swaying back and forth. Shirley 
was in his arms, but still fighting bravely. 

His rapid footfalls deadened by the soft needles, 
the cream leaped forward, guided by the slight, sure 
movement of his rider’s iron wrist. Bending low in 
the saddle, Moran fixed his savage gaze upon 
Mogridge’s broad back. The thought of man-made 
weapons had vanished from his mind. He wanted 
only his two bare hands. 

Too late the muffled thud of hoof beats penetrated 
Mogridge’s inflamed senses. He straightened, flung 
the girl roughly from him, and swung around, one 
hand sweeping to his hip. But he had barely gripped 
the butt of his six-shooter when Moran, leaping from 
the saddle, gripped him with the ferocity of a wild 
beast, and flung him backward, his spreading fingers 
digging into the flesh of the outlaw’s throat. 



CHAPTER XIV 

THE PLAN 

S OME time later the girl’s frightened voice, 
tremulous, insistent, pleading, penetrated 
Moran’s inflamed brain. 

“Don’t — oh, don’t!” she cried beseechingly. 
“ You mustn’t! You’re — killing him! ” 

Swiftly the red mist cleared. Moran looked down 
at the purple, distorted face beneath him and then 
up into Shirley Rives’ wide, horrified eyes. 

“That’s what I aim to do.” 

She caught one of his arms frantically with both 
hands. “O, please — please let go of him!” she 
begged frantically. “He’s choking to death! It’s 
too horrible! I — I can’t bear it! ” 

A slow wonder crept into Moran’s cold eyes. 
Loosening his hold on Mogridge’s throat, he sat back 
on his heels. 

“You want me to let him go?” he ask incredu¬ 
lously. 

“Oh, I don’t know!” she cried hysterically. 
“He’s beastly loathsome! I suppose he deserves 

anything. But I can’t bear to have you-” 

She broke off with a little sob and caught her lip 
between her teeth to still its trembling. Her hat was 
gone; her dull, coppery hair hung about her shoul¬ 
ders in disordered masses. Dusky hollows shadowed 
84 



The Plan 


85 


her lids and in the dilated eyes were traces of the 
strain and terror she had suffered. To Moran her 
fresh, young beauty seemed stamped with an un¬ 
wonted touch of fragility and wistfulness which sent 
a wave of tenderness and pity surging over him and 
brought him swiftly to his feet. 

“ I’ll do anythin’ yuh say, ma’am,” he told her 
quietly. 

Her eyes lit up briefly; her lips moved as if she 
meant to thank him but could not find the words. 
Then she swayed and put out one hand blindly, and as 
he caught her swiftly in his arms, her head fell for¬ 
ward against his shoulder and she began to sob 
brokenly. 

For a space the man stood holding her, his lowered 
gaze resting on the masses of coppery hair, thrilling 
to the touch of the hand which gripped his shirt, 
poignantly alive to every detail of her sweet young 
womanhood. But for all that he scarcely moved a 
muscle. Only too well he realized that this was 
merely the inevitable reaction from a situation which 
had tried her almost to the breaking point. Upheld 
through the worst by the courage of despair, when 
that need failed, she clung to Moran just as she 
would have clung to anyone saving her from such a 
fate. There was nothing in the least personal about 
it. With a momentary wave of bitterness he told 
himself there could not be. 

At length her sobbing ceased and drawing away 



86 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


from him a little she wiped her eyes. 

“ I’m such a fool! ” she murmured tremulously. 
“ But it was all so horribly sudden and unexpected. I 
was out on Billy and when I first saw him in the dis¬ 
tance, I — I thought it was you. And then I tried to 
get away, but poor Billy stumbled and fell and pitched 
me off. I scrambled up and ran into the woods, 
but-” 

She broke off, her lips trembling. 

“ Yuh don’t want to talk about it, ma’am,” Moran 
said hastily. “ It’s all over, an’ yuh mustn’t think no 
more about it. I’m plumb sorry I didn’t keep my 
promise. Trouble was, he suspected me and slipped 
one over. That’s why I was late gettin’ here.” 

“ But you came! ” she told him swiftly. “ I shan’t 
ever be able to thank you as long as I live. If you — 
hadn’t-” 

“Aw, don’t!” he begged. “I’d of given the 
world to get here ten minutes sooner, but— Well, I 
didn’t, an’ that’s the end of it. There’s somethin’ we 
got to decide on mighty sudden,” he went on in a dif¬ 
ferent tone. “What do yuh want done with him? 
An’ what are yuh goin’ to do yoreself — afterward?” 

“Afterward? You mean— Oh! I hadn’t 
thought of that. There’s been no time to-” 

“Just wait a minute,” he interrupted. 

A slight movement on the part of Mogridge had 
attracted his attention and reminded him of having 
neglected a very necessary precaution. Stepping over 






The Plan 


87 


to the prostrate figure, he removed the Colt from 
Spike’s holster and reaching inside the man’s vest 
drew another weapon from beneath his armpit. 
Mogridge’s heavy face had resumed something of its 
usual coloring, and in his eyes was the venomous glow 
of returning consciousness. Moran regarded him 
coldly. 

“ You lay there without movin’, Spike,” he told the 
leader definitely. “ It’s my turn now.” 

The only answer was a glare of vicious hate which 
brought a sardonic grin to Moran’s lips. Returning 
to the girl, he drew her out of earshot, taking care 
to place himself so that he could keep an eye on his 
prisoner. 

“You can’t stay here, that’s plain,” he said briefly. 
“ No matter what happens to this fellah, the rest of 
the gang is shore goin’ to kick up ructions. Trouble 
is, they think yuh know somethin’. That yarn about 
Blake bein’ a rustler was all bunk. He was after 
gold an’ it looks like he struck it rich. From the way 
he was plugged, an’—other things, they got an Idea 
he never left yore cabin alive, an’ they’re makin’ 
shore that before he cashed in he musta passed along 
what he knew about-” 

“ He did,” she interrupted swiftly. 

And almost before Moran realized it, she was 
pouring out the story in all its minute details. Twice 
he tried to stop her, having a curious feeling that she 
ought not tell him what she knew. But she persisted, 




88 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


and when she had finished his face was serious and a 
little troubled. The magnitude of the thing surpassed 
his wildest imaginings, but it also increased the 
danger and difficulty of the present situation. 

“Up beyond the source of Wind River,” he said 
meditatively. “ I know somethin’ about that country. 
. . . . An’ yore father set off to follow them 

directions.” 

Inwardly he was debating whether he should tell 
her of what he had seen back there by the Needles. 
He very quickly decided not to. It would only har¬ 
row her unnecessarily, without doing any good. Be¬ 
sides, a plan was forming swiftly in his mind. 

“ It’s a whole lot too big a job for him to tackle — 
at least from here,” he said rapidly. “ I don’t reckon 
he’s got any idea how far away it is. You’ve trusted 
me, ma’am, an’ I shore appreciate it. Mebbe you’ll 
take my advice an’ pull up stakes an’ get outa here 
right away. Unless I’m dead wrong, and I don’t 
think I am, you can get into that country a whole lot 
easier by goin’ through the pass northeast o’ here to a 
little town called Hatchet, an’ then west an’ south into 
the mountains. What’s more, every minute yuh stay 
here is increasin’ the danger from that bunch over to 
Saddle Butte.” 

She stared at him, the momentary brightness of 
her eyes fading to perplexity. The thought of stay¬ 
ing in this place had grown intolerable and she would 
have welcomed any means of escape. But- 




a 


The Plan 89 

“ You mean we ought to go soon? ” she questioned. 

“ Shore. Tomorrow, anyhow. Tonight would be 
better, but I s’pose that can’t be managed.” 

“But father! I can’t go without him. And I 
haven’t the least idea where he is now or how long 
he’ll stay away.” 

“ I was cornin’ to that,” he told her hurriedly. “ I 
got a pretty good notion how he’d start from here 
for the head of Wind River. The minute I leave 
here I’m gonna chase after him an’ bring him back.” 

“ But he’s been gone three days! How could you 
possibly-” 

“ There’s a short cut I know of,” he evaded 
hastily. “ Don’t yuh fret about that. Just try an’ 
believe I know what I’m talkin’ about. An’ if I 
shouldn’t happen to locate him by tomorrow, I’ll 
come back an’ we’ll dope out some way of fixin’ things 
safe ’till he shows up. Now about Mogridge. I 
reckon yuh wouldn’t want him left here ’till I come 
back, even if he was tied up good an’ tight.” 

“No — Oh, no!” Terror flashed into her eyes 
and her lips trembled. “I — I couldn’t-” 

“ I thought not. Well, I’ll take him with me an’ 
dump him off in some safe place a long ways from 
here. Now, listen. Soon’s I’m gone yuh better pack 
up what yuh want to take with yuh so’s we won’t 
waste no time tomorrow. Anythin’ small yuh ’spe¬ 
cially value, an’ some food an’ blankets yuh better 
tote into that gulch off’n the trail aways. Yuh don’t 





90 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


mind sleepin’ out this once, do yuh?” 

“ Of course not. I couldn’t stay in the cabin now.” 

“ Fine. O’ course the chances are slim of anybody 
moochin’ around tonight, but better be safe. If yuh 
have time it wouldn’t be a bad idea to go an’ get that 
sorrel. Likely you’ll want to take him— Thunder! 
I forgot yore hawss-” 

“ He’s back,” she interrupted quickly. “ I saw him 
trotting along the trail a few minutes ago.” 

“ Good business! I’ll catch him up before I go. 
Now if yuh don’t mind stepping out as far’s the 
trail, I’ll hogtie this here jasper.” 

Mogridge was sitting sullenly on the ground and as 
Moran took down the rope from his saddle and began 
uncoiling it, he burst forth into a stream of bitter, 
virulent profanity. 

“Filter that, yuh hound!” Dan told him fiercely. 
“ Yuh don’t seem to know when yore well off. If I’d 
had my way yuh’d be food for buzzards long before 
now. Lay down on yore stummack.” 

Reluctantly Spike obeyed, still seething with an al¬ 
most uncontrolled fury. When his hands were firmly 
secured behind his back and the rope looped and tied 
about his ankles with just enough play to allow him 
to hobble, Moran jerked him to his feet and departed 
to catch up Shirley’s roan. 

Fortunately—for he had no other rope — the girl 
herself had already managed to approach the animal 
near enough to snatch the trailing bridle reins, and 




The Plan 


91 


when Moran came up there was nothing left but to 
say farewell. 

“Yuh’ll stay in the gulch, won’t yuh, until we 
come?” he reminded her, tingling a little from the 
clasp of her firm, brown fingers. For an instant he 
hesitated, unwilling to alarm her, yet conscious that 
there was yet one more thing which must be said. He 
did not mean to fail, but as often as not fate elects to 
stage a tragedy. In case neither he nor Colonel Rives 
returned, it was necessary to provide for the girl’s 
safety. “ O’ course,” he said, “ there ain’t one chance 
in a hundred, hardly, of my not showin’ up some time 
tomorrow. But if I shouldn’t happen to, you’d best 
pack up an’ ride to Hatchet first thing the next 
mornin’. Yuh can leave a note for yore father-” 

“You mean there’s danger?” she broke in anx¬ 
iously. 

His teeth flashed in a reassuring grin. “ Why, no,” 
he drawled. “ Not a mite. It’s only that things hap¬ 
pen unexpected sometimes. I might get lost, or miss 
yore dad. Yuh can’t tell. An’ I’d feel a lot easier 
knowin’ yuh were safe. You’ll do that little thing, 
ma’am, won’t yuh? ” 

For an instant she stood silent, regarding him with 
a strangely serious, oddly searching expression in her 
troubled, wistful eyes. It almost seemed as if she 
guessed what was passing in his mind. At last her 
lips parted. 

“Yes,” she said quietly. “I — will.” 




CHAPTER XV 
“lightning” strikes 

K EEPING close to the wall of the ranch house, 
Moran crept silently through the darkness to¬ 
ward the mellow, lighted square ahead. Through 
the open window came the murmur of voices and 
now and then a laugh or a coarse oath floated out into 
the night, showing that Mogridge’s henchmen were 
apparently untroubled by their leader’s prolonged ab¬ 
sence. Grimly, Moran wondered whether the gen¬ 
eral lack of interest was not due more than anything 
else to callous indifference. After all, the ties which 
bind such men as these together are usually of the 
frailest, and always there are eager hands stretched 
out to snatch at a ruler’s falling scepter. Reaching 
-the window he paused to listen. 

“What about Spike? Ain’t yuh gonna wait ’till 
he shows up before yuh start? ” 

It was Greer who spoke. Brodey answered with 
a harsh laugh. 

“Him be damned! He’s enjoyin’ himself well 
enough. Leave him stay away if he wants to.” 

There was a general chorus of guffaws. Out in the 
cool darkness Moran’s lips curved in a grim smile as 
he remembered the particularly rocky hollow about 
a mile away in which he had deposited Mogridge, 
helpless, gagged, fairly bursting with apoplectic fury. 
92 


“Lightning” Strikes 


93 


“How do we Know he is?” put in Scully. “ If 
yuh’d seen Lightnin’ fannin’ the wind outa here-” 

“ I don’t know,” cut in Brodey curtly. “An’ to 
tell the truth, I don’t give a cuss. If them two plugs 
each other in the gizzard— Waal, so much more 
for the rest of us. Now, ol’ timer, let’s have the 
dope. No more stallin’. Yuh better shell out while 
the shellin’s good, I’m tellin’ yuh.” 

A brief silence followed, broken suddenly by 
Brodey. 

“Come on! Come on! Tell us all about Blake 
an’ where yuh was goin’ when we roped yuh.” 

“ I suttinly shall not, suh,” said an unfamiliar 
voice. “You may shoot me down if you like, but I 
shall tell you nothing.” 

“Shoot yuh! Hell! I’m likely to, ain’t I? No, 
there ain’t gonna be no shootin’, but lemme tell yuh 
this: If yuh keep on bein’ stubborn, yore likely to 
wish mighty passionate for a slug o’ lead. Stand him 
up, Squint. We’ll see if we can’t find some way of 
openin’ his mouth.” 

At that moment Moran, convinced that the general 
attention would be directed away from the window, 
ventured to peer cautiously around the casing. 

The room was long and low-ceiled, cluttered, un¬ 
tidy, filled with a haze of tobacco smoke. Most of 
the illumination came from a lamp standing on the 
still uncleared supper table, but another burned smok- 
ily on a shelf near the door into the kitchen. Gath- 




94 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


ered about in various lounging attitudes was the en¬ 
tire ranch force including Bloss, the cook. Moran’s 
glance swept swiftly around making sure that none 
of them had left the room since he peered in half an 
hour before. It rested for an instant with a slight 
narrowing of the keen eyes on Brodey’s bulky person 
sprawling in a chair, and then leaped to the tall, 
slightly bowed figure of Colonel Rives, who had evi¬ 
dently just been jerked to his feet by Greer, who 
stood beside him. 

His iron gray hair, worn rather long, was mussed 
and towsled. Over his long, thin face the parchment 
skin turned a slightly grayish hue, seemed stretched a 
trifle tighter than when Dan had last seen it. But his 
lips and hands were steady, and in the dark eyes there 
glowed a defiant light. 

“ Yuh won’t tell, will yuh?” snarled Brodey. 

“ I will not, suh,” retorted the colonel steadily. 

‘‘Hold his other arm, Monk,” ordered Brodey. 
“ Bloss, fetch that iron I told yuh to heat up.” 

The cook disappeared through the kitchen door, 
and in the silence that followed Moran’s right hand 
slid down to the holster at his side, his left stealing 
up inside his vest. When Bloss appeared with a run¬ 
ning iron glowing dully at the end, Colonel Rives 
bit his lip but otherwise he did not stir. 

“Give it to Bill,” directed Brodey, his bulky figure 
straightening a little. “ Bill’s a good hand at brand¬ 
ing, so I hear. Plows ’em deep! Hal Ha! The 



“Lightning” Strikes 


95 


right cheek first, Bill. Make it nice an’ prominent. 
All ready ? Yo’re not changin’ yore mind, Colonel ? ” 

The older man’s face was chalky; a spot of blood 
stood out against the gray pallor of his lips. Know¬ 
ing the reputation of these men he must have realized 
as Moran did, that this was no mere idle threat, but 
one they were perfectly capable of carrying out. Per¬ 
haps he could not trust himself to speak, but his 
vehement headshake was plain enough. 

44 Go to it!” snarled Brodey. “Give it to him 
good.” 

Scully thrust the branding iron forward, but it 
never reached within six inches of the colonel’s face. 
From the window came a sharp crack and with a howl 
of pain, Scully dropped the hot iron and grabbed his 
shattered hand. 

“ Stick ’em up ! ” At Moran’s cold, incisive utter¬ 
ance a sudden stillness descended on the smoke-laden 
room. “Up, I said, Monk. Both of ’em.” 

“ Lightning, by Gawd! ” gasped Bloss, after a 
swift side glance toward the window. 

“ C’rect,” Moran’s lips twisted in a mirthless grin. 
“There’s a sayin’ it don’t strike twice in the same 
place, but that’s a lie.” 

His pistol spat again and with a shriek Scully rolled 
over on the floor and lay there moaning. 

“ Yuh took four or five pot shots at me this morn- 
in’, Bill,” pursued Moran relentlessly. “ But I’m 
lettin’ yuh off easy. Worst is yuh’ll never be a two- 



96 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


gun man no more. I got yuh jaspers covered/* he 
continued meaningly, “ an I ain’t gonna plug no more 
hands. Colonel, will yuh kindly pick up that iron an 7 
toss it out the window? It’s scorchin’ the floor an’ 
making a mite too much of a smoke screen.” 

Dazedly Colonel Rives bent and picking up the 
running iron, carried it over and flung it out of the 
window. His hands shook a little, and there was a 
bewildered expression on his face as stared at this 
rescuer he had never seen before and of whose in¬ 
tentions toward himself he was even now not quite 
certain. 

“ Now s’pose yuh collect the hardware,” directed 
Moran, his alert glance continuing to sweep the room. 
“ No use chancin’ accidents with a nervous bunch like 
this. There’s a rope hangin’ over there on the wall 
yuh can string ’em on. An’ don’t forget the two-gun 
men.” 

As Colonel Rives, gained strength and assurance 
with every step, went about the room removing six- 
guns and stringing them methodically on the rope he 
had taken from the wall, more than one lifted hand 
quivered, while the baleful looks and muttered lurid 
comments showed the strain under which the outlaws 
suffered. But no one risked a threatening move. 
They knew Moran and his reputation too well to take 
chances. 

The operation took some time and was not a little 
facilitated by Dan’s intimate knowledge of various 



“Lightning” Strikes 


97 


individual notions as to the proper place to carry a 
second weapon. When it was over the colonel re¬ 
turned to the window, and at Moran’s direction 
scrambled through and stood beside him. The jan¬ 
gling mass of revolvers made a heavy load which he 
set down on the ground. 

“Over by the corral,” said Moran in a low tone, 
drawing back a trifle from the window but still keep¬ 
ing the crowd accurately covered. “Three horses. 
A bay, a buckskin an’ a big cream with yore pack on. 
Mount the buckskin an’ lead the others this way. 
The minute I hit the saddle be ready to start 
a-boilin’.” 

Colonel Rives nodded and disappeared into the 
darkness. Moran, whose glance had never ceased 
raking the crowd inside, redoubled his vigilance. Ex¬ 
perience with human nature told him that this was 
almost the most hazardous moment of all. The 
furious bottled rage of these men was likely to boil 
over at any instant against all sense and reason, and it 
was too much to expect that the colonel had not 
missed one or two weapons at least. Moran had a 
feeling somewhat akin to smoking a cigarette over 
an open keg of gunpowder, and when the horses 
loomed up in the darkness he breathed a faint sigh 
of relief. 

Silently slipping one revolver into the hidden hol¬ 
ster beneath his arm pit, he reached down and felt for 
the loop of rope supporting the ravished weapons. 



98 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


He took another step backward. 

“Well, good night, gents,” he said coolly, as he 
swiftly holstered the second six-gun. “Happy 
dreams! ” 

With a leap he was in the saddle and speeding 
down the trail, Colonel Rives beside him. The lead 
rope of the cream was fastened to his saddle horn 
and he had seen to it—during those moments of 
swift yet careful preparation — that it was long 
enough to keep the horses from interfering. The 
moment they were through the gate he swung the 
heavy dangling load of weapons into the brush beside 
the trail and glanced over one shoulder. 

Roars of fury issued from the ranch house. 
Lights flared and twinkled; doors burst open and 
moving figures were silhouetted against the glare. , 
Finally as the fugitives neared the canon came shots, 
wide and scattered, but persistent. 

“Winchesters,” commented Moran, his eyes bril¬ 
liant in the starlight. “ They were in the bunk house. 
Much good they’ll do ’em, though, when I turned the 
horses loose and cut every cinch and stirrup leather 
in the place.” 

The colonel made no immediate comment. His 
eyes were turned toward Moran and his face was 
an odd mingling of curiosity and admiration. 

“ Suh,” he said abruptly, after a little pause, “ I 
don’t know your name or anything about you, but by 
God, suh, you suttinly are a man!” 



CHAPTER XVI 


FLIGHT 

B Y THE time they reached the entrance to the 
gulch where Shirley had promised to hide her¬ 
self, Colonel Rives had become acquainted with the 
events leading up to the present crisis. Though a 
man of few words, his gratitude was apparent, and 
yet Moran had a vague intuition that he wasn’t alto¬ 
gether pleased at his daughter’s action in confiding 
so freely the important details of John Blake’s 
discovery. 

He was courteous enough — a little too courteous, 
Moran felt, and wondered with a touch of bitterness 
whether the old man was afraid he was going to butt 
in and become troublesome by virtue of the services 
he had performed. This, at any rate, was Dan’s 
impression and it made him draw into his shell, so 
that the latter part of the journey was rather silent. 

At the entrance to the gulch he drew back a little 
and let the colonel go ahead. Finally he halted and, 
sitting motionless in the saddle, he listened to the 
colonel’s loud halloo, heard the girl’s swift, glad re¬ 
sponse and was presently aware of fervent embraces 
and the hurried rush of question and answer that 
followed. 

The latter seemed prolonged, and as he listened 
to the murmuring rise and fall of the two voices, his 
99 


100 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


face grew mask-like in its expression of unpenetrable 
reserve. 

On an impulse that afternoon he had mentioned 
his knowledge of the country around the lost Squaw 
Mine, and, by inference at least, offered his services 
to guide them thither. In spite of vague yearnings 
in his heart, he did not mean to mention it again, nor 
to take advantage of mere gratitude. He had too 
much pride for that. They must ask him definitely, 
and ask as if they meant it. Suddenly the girl’s 
voice came to him, clear, distinct, eager. 

“But where is he? ” 

“ Close by, my dear. He was just behind me. 
Moran! ” 

Dan answered briefly, and then, seeing her slim 
figure approaching through the luminous darkness, he 
slipped out of the saddle and stood waiting. She 
came straight to him and caught one of his hands 
impulsively in hers. 

“ I can never thank you,” she said in a low, husky 
tone that showed how great was her emotion. “ I 
felt there was — something back of it all, but I never 
guessed the truth. Dad says you were simply 
wonderful.” 

Moran held himself in with a deliberate effort. 
As once before, he told himself that she was merely 
worked up by the intensity of her relief and 
thankfulness. 

“We were lucky to have everythin’ come off so 



101 


Fliglit 


smooth,” he answered quietly. “ I reckon we oughtn’t 
to waste any time gettin’ off, though. That bunch is 
shore on the warpath, an’ they ain’t goin’ to let the 
thing drop. Are yuh all ready to hit the trail?” 

She let his hand fall and stepped back a pace. 
“Why—why, yes,” she answered, a subtle under¬ 
current of disappointment in her voice. “Every¬ 
thing’s packed. All we have to do is to load up the 
sorrel.” 

“Fine. We’d better get to it, then. We oughta 
be well away from here by daybreak.” 

The following half hour was an extremely busy 
one. Shirley’s roan was already saddled and she had 
brought down the sorrel from his secret hiding place. 
He would make an excellent pack horse to take the 
place of the cream, to which Moran meant to shift 
his saddle. Though the bay and the buckskin were 
both fine animals, if things developed as he began to 
think they might, he did not wish to be hampered by a 
spare mount. 

At the cabin the exchange was effected and the 
loads readjusted. It was impossible to take many of 
their belongings, but Shirley abandoned the rest with¬ 
out a qualm. The place and everything about it had 
grown hateful to her and she hoped never to set 
eyes on it again. When the last knot was finally tied 
and they mounted and set off along the eastward 
trail, she breathed a little sigh of sheer relief. 

Moran took the lead and made no attempt to hide 



102 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


their tracks in the soft ooze along the creek. Three 
miles further on, however, where the trails forked, he 
took the branch leading to Clayton and kept to it 
until they came to a wide out-cropping of rock several 
hundred yards beyond. 

Here he left the track and keeping to the rock, cut 
back on their course, emerging into the main trail 
leading to the pass a good half mile beyond the fork. 

It was slow going, but toward the end the slowly 
lifting darkness began to make progress easier. 
Dawn was approaching, and as the horses scrambled 
up the steep ascent leading to the narrow gap between 
two peaks, the shadows gradually gave place to a 
cold gray light that seemed to gain added warmth 
and color with every passing moment. As yet neither 
the colonel nor his daughter had made any reference 
to the future. 

The instant there was light enough for his purpose, 
Moran twisted the reins about his saddle horn and 
drawing from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper, 
began to make a rough map to which he added here 
and there terse written directions. He was aware of 
the girl’s occasional curious regard, but he made no 
comment or explanation until at length, having passed 
through the gap, they came out on a wide shoulder 
of the mountain, where he drew rein. 

The sky was tinged with rose color, shading to a 
deeper brilliancy in the east. The shadows had com¬ 
pletely fled, and spread out below them lay a vast 



Flight 


103 


stretch of wild, rough country. 

Not quite a wilderness, however. Far below along 
the bottom of a wide valley a river of some size, 
winding its tortuous way through canons and between 
forest-covered slopes, lay like a twisted silver ribbon. 
To the northeast a dozen miles or so it took a sweep¬ 
ing turn and at the bend there stood a little settle¬ 
ment. Though at that distance they looked like toys 
in that still, clear air, the houses stood out sharply 
distinct in every detail. 

“ There’s Hatchet,” explained Moran with a wave 
of one hand. “You can’t miss the way; the trail 
leads straight to it without any forks.” His eyes fell 
to the paper in his hand. “ I’ve made a sort of map 
a showin’ the way I spoke about of gettin’ to the head 
o’ Wind River. It ain’t a work of art, but I reckon 
yuh can make it out all right.” 

He handed the paper to the girl, but she made no 
attempt to take it. There was a puzzled, hurt, 
surprised look in her eyes. 

“But — but I thought that you were coming with 
us,” she said. 

“That ain’t noways necessary, ma’am,” Dan told 
her. “ It’s straight goin’ to Hatchet, an’ once there 
all yuh gotta do is to follow this map.” 

“But you? Where-” 

He forced a smile to his lips; a very creditable 
smile it was, too. 

“Me? Why, I reckon I’ll be headin’ south, 




104 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


ma’am. This country won’t be very healthy for me 
for some while, so I thought I’d give Arizona or New 
Mexico the once over. Always heard the climate 
down there was great.” 

A hurt, bewildered expression came into her eyes 
and her lips quivered momentarily. 

“But we thought — we wanted— We hoped 
you’d come with us, and in case we found gold, you’d 
be a sort of partner.” 

He stared at her incredulously. “Yuh — yuh 

can’t mean that? ” he said, his voice a little hoarse. 

“Of course I do. We talked it over last night, 
didn’t we, Dad?” 

The colonel nodded. “We decided if you’d be 
willing to — er — throw in with us, suh, to offer you a 
third share in anything we found.” 

Moran caught his breath. “A third! Great 
Godfrey, man! Yuh don’t know what yore sayin’. 
All my life I’ve heard stories about the Lost Squaw 
Mine. If that’s really what Blake found, why — 
w T hy, it’ll be one of the biggest things-” 

He broke off, astonished, bewildered, more than 
half incredulous of their meaning. This was an invi¬ 
tation far beyond his dreams. Shirley’s eyes, wide 
and bright, were fixed intently on his face. 

“Not half so big as what you did for us,” she 
told him swiftly. “ Besides, Dad can’t undertake the 
thing alone. We — we need you.” 

A slow flush crept into his tanned face. The 




Flight 


105 


muscular brown fingers of one hand gripped the 
saddle horn. 

“You — you say that knowin’ what I’ve been?” 
he asked in a low voice. 

The troubled expression had quite vanished from 
her eyes. 

“Of course!” she told him quickly. “What 
you’ve been doesn’t in the least matter. It’s what 
you are — that counts.” 




CHAPTER XVII 


HATCHET 


HE little town of Hatchet, hugging the wide 



JL bend of the Snake River, drowsed in the heat 
of a cloudless midsummer morning. Few people 
were in sight along the wide, slightly curving main 
street which paralleled the river bank and for this 
Dan Moran was distinctly thankful. His acquaint¬ 
ance here was fairly general and there were one or 
two persons he was particularly anxious to avoid. 
Indeed, save for the necessity of buying certain sup¬ 
plies essential to their enterprise he would have been 
inclined to keep the settlement at a respectful distance, 
even at the cost of some rough and exceedingly 
toilsome riding. 

Sitting her small, well-made roan beside him, 
Shirley Rives was oppressed by no such doubts or 
anxieties. The day was perfect; they had escaped 
from a situation of great difficulty and hazard and 
were leaving behind forever conditions which had 
weighed down her spirits for very many days. More¬ 
over, though she scarcely admitted it even to herself, 
she found a distinct pleasure in the presence of this 
big, handsome, competent young man in spite of 
whose more than questionable record she trusted so 
entirely. Taken all in all, despite a sleepless, 
troubled night, she was in the best of spirits. Her 


106 


Hatchet 


107 


eyes sparkled; under the golden tan of her shapely 
oval face a becoming touch of color glowed. Even 
this straggling line of log and rough timber struc¬ 
tures, crude and unlovely as they were, seemed to 
please her. 

“ Why, it’s a metropolis! ” she exclaimed, lips 
parting in a whimsical smile. “ It’s perfect ages 
since I’ve seen anything like this. Makes me think 
of those red-letter days when I used to go in to Louis¬ 
ville to shop. Aren’t you thrilled, Dad? Or are you 
afraid I’ll run wild and spend all our money in the 
— department stores?” 

Colonel Rives chuckled. “Not very. I’ve been 
here only once before, but as I remember the one 
general store specializes more "on hardware and 
groceries and cow-boy rigging than anything that 
would tempt you beyond endurance. That’s right, 
isn’t it, Moran?” 

From under drooping lashes, Dan swiftly raked 
the open door of the saloon they were passing and 
then glanced sidewise. 

“ C’rect,” he agreed laconically. “ It’s mostly a 
man’s town, though I reckon you might find a few 
necessities — if you ain’t too particular.” 

The girl sighed in mock disappointment. “ What 
a shame! And I’d counted on having a gorgeous 
splurge after all these self-denying months. You 
mean to say there’s only one. store? What are all 
those other places then?” 



108 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“ Saloons, mostly, ’n’ a couple dance halls. 
There’s a blacksmith shop down the road aways, an’ 
that joint with the false front an’ tumbledown porch 
is a fourth rate eatin’ house. The rest are mostly 
jest houses.” 

“ But where is everybody? I’ve haven’t seen more 
than six people at the very most, and one of them — 
that man asleep on the eating house porch — looks 
more like a sack of meal with a whiskered pumpkin 
sitting on top than anything I can think of.” 

Moran grinned as he pictured Jed Zeek’s rage 
could he have heard this unflattering description. 
Already he was aware that the proprietor of the 
Elite was not asleep at all, but for some moments 
had been regarding them stealthily from under his 
dragged-down hat brim. Of this, however, Dan gave 
no sign. After all he could scarcely have hoped to 
pass through Hatchet without attracting the observa¬ 
tion of this gossipy, inquisitive person whose whole 
life seemed devoted to prying into the affairs of 
others. They must make the best of the situation 
and trust to luck to escape the attention of that other, 
much more dangerous individual he had in mind. 

“ Hatchet don’t really wake up ’till sundown,” he 
answered the girl, pulling up before a narrow, squat 
building wedged in between the eating house and a 
long, two-story frame affair which had a more pre¬ 
tentious air than any of the others. “Then’s when 
the boys drift in, an’ some nights yuh might almost 



Hatchet 


109 


think yuh were on the gay, white way. This is the 
store.” 

As he swung out of the saddle and came around 
to help Miss Rives dismount, he was struck anew with 
a keen appreciation of her fresh young beauty. In 
spite of a sleepless night and of all the poignant fears 
and worries which must have tormented her through 
the dark hours, her lovely face showed scarcely a 
trace even of fatigue. Her eyes sparkled; her rip¬ 
pling bronze hair was carefully arranged; even the 
simple blouse looked crisp and fresh. How she had 
managed it, Moran, conscious suddenly of the two- 
days’ stubble disfiguring his chin, could not imagine. 

For an instant he found it in his heart to wish that 
she did not present a figure so daintily feminine and 
alluring, so completely, almost startlingly out of keep¬ 
ing against this drab and sordid background. It was 
going to vastly increase their difficulties and, too late, 
he wished he had left the other tw# outside the town 
and come in alone to make his purchases. Even at 
the cost of a long and difficult detour it would have 
been well worth while. 

Moran, however, was not the sort to waste time 
lamenting his mistakes. A swift, searching glance at 
the long building to the right of Timmons’ store 
encouraged him. There was no one to be seen either 
through the open door or at any of the windows. 
With no appearance of hurry, yet without wasting 
any time, he tied the horses to the hitching rack and 



110 


Moran of Saddle Butte _ 

followed the girl and her father into the store. 

Awakening from a drowse, Bill Timmons scram¬ 
bled out of a chair and stumbled forward, his sleep- 
dulled eyes widening at the sight of the radiant vision 
confronting him. Being a susceptible person, he 
fairly fell over himself in his eagerness to attend to 
Miss Rives’ wants, leaving her two male companions 
to poke about through his cluttered stock. 

Moran was just as well pleased. The nature of 
the implements and some of the supplies they needed 
made it evident that they intended to do some placer 
mining. Of course it would be necessary for Tim¬ 
mons to look them over while footing up the bill, 
but Dan had a feeling that, mixed in with other pur¬ 
chases, they wouldn’t be quite so noticeable as if each 
one had to be hunted out separately by the proprietor. 

He went about his work with expedition and by 
the time Shirley had finished with her purchases he 
had assembled the bulk of what they needed in a heap 
on the floor. To this Timmons added some provi¬ 
sions and one or two other things Dan had not been 
able to find, and with much scratching of the head set 
about totalling up the amount. When he finally 
announced it Moran was smitten by a sudden 
disagreeable conviction. 

“Lemme foot it up, will yuh?” he requested 
briefly. “ Seems like quite a lot more ’n I expected.” 

But though he did find two errors in addition, the 
reduction was so slight as to make little material 





Hatchet 


111 


difference. After a momentary hesitation he drew 
Colonel Rives to one side. 

“ Yuh didn’t happen to overlook any coin when we 
pooled our cash this mornin’, did yuh, Colonel?” he 
inquired. 

“No, suh,” returned the Kentuckian in some 
surprise. “You have every dollah I possess.” 

“ I was afraid so,” commented Moran. “As it 
turns out it ain’t enough to pay for this junk by 
around twenty plunks, an’ yet I don’t see how we’re 
gonna get along with less.” 

“There’s the — a — gold,” suggested Colonel 
Rives after a momentary pause. “ I presume he 
would accept some of that as payment.” 

“He shore would, but that’s jest what I’m aimin’ 
to avoid. We can get away with that prospector 
yarn without attractin’ no attention; plenty o’ men 
drift off into the mountains every season. But if any 
of the crowd here get the notion we’ve already made 
a strike-” 

He broke off with an eloquent shrug, observed 
Timmons again in conversation with Miss Rives, and 
went on in a lower tone: 

“ Reckon we’ll have to chance it, though. We’ve 
got to have this stuff, an’ after all we don’t need to 
use any o’ them big nuggets. Better slip it out while 
he ain’t lookin’.” 

The older man nodded, shifted his position 
slightly and delving into a capacious pocket drew 




112 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


forth a medium sized canvas bag, grimy from much 
handling and firmly tied about the mouth with raw- 
hide. The colonel’s long, thin fingers plucked the 
knot loose and with his back to the absorbed Tim¬ 
mons, he drew out half a dozen smooth, irregular 
fragments of yellow metal. 

“Will that be enough?” he whispered. 

Moran took them. “A plenty,” he nodded, ap¬ 
praising them with a practised eye. “Yuh might 
start loadin’ up while I settle with him. It’s gonna 
be some job gettin’ everythin’ on them hawses, but 
I reckon we can do it.” 

Shirley turned as he came up and, catching her eye, 
Dan telegraphed a silent request that she would con¬ 
tinue to devote herself to Timmons. Whether or 
not she understood his reason she seemed to catch 
his meaning and with scarcely a pause went on with 
her light, airy chatter, to which Timmons, on the 
other side of the rough counter, listened eagerly, ap¬ 
parently oblivious to everything else. Mechanically 
he weighed the bits of gold, counted over the worn 
bills and silver and made change, his slightly bulging 
blue eyes returning, fascinated, every other minute to 
Miss Rives’ charming face. 

“ You may as well stay here outa the sun while we 
pack up,” Moran told her, concealing his satisfac¬ 
tion under a casual manner. “We won’t be more’n 
ten or fifteen minutes.” 

Without comment she nodded carelessly, but 



Hatchet 


113 


Moran caught a momentary intelligent flash of her 
eyes as he bent to gather up a load. As he passed 
out into the street her voice followed him. 

“But, how wonderful, Mr. Timmons! I had no 

idea it was so gay here. Do tell me-’’ 

“Some girl!” reflected Dan grimly. “She’s got 
his number all right. Now if we can only slip away 

without running into Asher-” 

As he worked rapidly with the colonel, fastening up 
their purchases and lashing them on the backs of the 
already fairly well laden spare horses, his spirits 
began to rise. Zeek had given up all pretense at 
slumber and sat tilted back against the wall, a tat¬ 
tered newspaper spread on his fat knees. Not a 
move escaped him, but on the other side of the store, 
Ormsby Asher’s dance hall, saloon and gambling 
place, drowsed in the morning sun still empty of any 
sign of life. 

“Another five minutes and we’ll be on our way,” 
muttered Moran, tying the last knot expertly. 

Straightening up he turned and walked swiftly into 
the store. He had expected Shirley to be ready to 
depart at once, but apparently she had just spied some 
gauntlets and was engaged in trying on a pair. Dan 
could scarcely drag her away from this occupation, 
nor would it be wise to betray the impatience he felt 
at even this brief delay. He was thankful enough, 
however, when he had paid for the gloves and Shirley, 
with a friendly farewell to the stricken Timmons, 





114 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


walked with him toward the door. 

“ Everything’s ready for us to start,” he explained, 
“ so I reckon we’d better not waste any time gettin’ 
off. I don’t know how long-” 

He paused abruptly, eyes narrowing slightly, 
muscles about his jaw tightening at the sight of the 
figure standing composedly beside the hitching rack. 
Tall and lean he was, with a narrow, wrinkled, hawk¬ 
like face dominated by a pair of coldly brilliant 
eyes. And somehow to Dan the mere sight of that 
gaunt shape clad in a black frock coat, the narrow 
string tie showing above a shirt front of immaculate 
whiteness, seemed to bring an actual chill note into 
the sunlit, summer picture. 




CHAPTER XVIII 

ORMSBY ASHER 

M ORAN’S instinctive halt was only momentary; 

the outward sign of his disquiet no more than 
a flash of light across his hastily composed face. 

“Hello, Asher,” he drawled, moving toward the 
older man with every appearance of pleasure at the 
encounter. “ I was jest goin’ to look yuh up. How’s 
tricks? ” 

Ormsby Asher’s gaze, which had been fixed on 
Shirley Rives, shifted to Moran’s face. “About as 
usual,” he returned slowly. “Haven’t seen you 
around Hatchet in some time, have I?” 

Moran lowered one eyelid significantly. Elis brain 
was working swiftly and already he had decided on 
the one possible line to take with Asher. 

“ Been pretty busy over at Saddle Butte,” he 
returned easily. 

“Ah!” Asher stroked his long, black mustache 
with a lean, attenuated, blue-veined hand on one 
finger of which sparkled a diamond of unusual size 
and fire. His slightly narrowed eyes flashed momen¬ 
tarily to the girl and back again. “ Introduce me to 
your friends,” he suggested smoothly. 

Though disliking the necessity, Dan complied 
readily enough. “ Colonel, meet Ormsby Asher, the 
king pin of Hatchet! Miss Rives — Mr. Asher. 

115 



116 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Asher shook hands with the Southerner and, turn¬ 
ing to the girl, removed his wide-brimmed black hat 
revealing a smooth, glistening expanse of dark hair 
liberally sprinkled with gray. This time his clasp 
was more prolonged and Moran, watching Shirley, 
noticed that she stiffened a little, the color deepening 
in her face. 

“ Delighted, ma’am,” said Asher in a smooth, 
purring voice. “ This is an unexpected pleasure. I 
hope you’re going to spend a little time in town.” 

Shirley hesitated, and Moran made haste to 
answer. 

“Not jest now. We’re on our way to Thunder 
Creek, but I reckon we’ll be back an’ forth 
considerable in the next month or so.” 

The immobility of Asher’s long, thin face scarcely 
altered, but the searching, speculative glance he bent 
on Moran was tinged with veiled suspicion. Dan 
returned it steadily, his expression ingenuous and 
open. 

“ I see,” murmured the older man. Appraisingly 
he glanced sidewise at the laden pack horses. “ Sorry 
we can’t entertain you, ma’am,” he went on to Shirley 
who had stepped over to her horse. “ We’ll have to 
make up for that later. Allow me.” 

The girl had already turned her stirrup, but before 
she could do more Asher was at her side, assisting 
her into the saddle. As she gathered up the reins 
he turned to Moran. 



Ormsby Asher 


117 


“ I’ll have a word with you before you go,” he 
said briefly. 

Dan made no objection, and the two walked over 
to a patch of shade cast by the projecting front of 
Timmons’ store. Timmons himself stood in the 
doorway regarding them curiously, but Asher’s voice 
was pitched too low to carry even that short distance. 

“Well?” he questioned briefly. “What’s the 
game?” 

Moran did not pretend to misunderstand him. He 
smiled slightly and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Oh, I had a little run in with Spike an’ decided 
to hit the trail,” he explained. 

“ H’m! But who are these people? Where’d you 
meet up with ’em? Where you going and what 
for?” 

Moran had been expecting the question and was 
ready with his answer. He knew Asher, and he had 
not missed that flashing sidelong glance at the loads 
carried by the two pack horses, the nature of which 
was only too readily apparent. 

“They’re from the South, I understand,” he re¬ 
turned with an air of ready frankness. “He’s out 
here for his health. They been livin’ the other side 
of the range between here an’ Clayton. The ol’ 
man’s been playin’ around prospectin’, mostly to pass 
the time, I expect, but so far he ain’t met up with 
anythin’ riotous. When I run into ’em a couple days 
ago he got to askin’ me about likely places an’ all 



118 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


that. One thing led to another, an’ finally he made 
me an offer to take ’em through the Thunder Creek 
country an’ stick with ’em a spell.” Dan paused to 
glance over his shoulder and then gave a chuckle. 
“ Seein’ as I was headin’ in that direction I didn’t 
mind bein’ paid for it,” he concluded, straddling his 
legs and hooking both thumbs into his chap belt. 

Asher caressed his mustache meditatively, his 
steady glance fixed intently on Moran’s face. 

“ He’s got money, then?” he mused aloud. 

“ Must have some. He forked out a month’s pay, 
which was all the time I agreed to give him. I’m 
dead sick of brandin’ an’ drivin’ steers to Silvertown, 
an’ takin’ Spike Mogridge’s back talk. It’ll be a 
nice rest.” 

The pause which followed was so prolonged that 
Dan found it difficult to retain his bland and careless 
expression under the other’s searching stare. What 
was passing, he wondered uneasily, behind those hard, 
brilliant, calculating eyes? Would Asher accept his 
explanation, or would he probe deeper? He was 
not afraid of the man himself in spite of the gam¬ 
bler’s unsavory reputation. But if Asher ever found 
out where they really were heading for, and why, 
his influence with the distinctly hard crowd that made 
Hatchet their headquarters would make him an even 
greater menace to their plans than the Saddle Butte 
outlaws. 

Suddenly Asher’s tall, gaunt frame relaxed and he 



Ormsby Asher 


119 


raised one shaggy eyebrow in a characteristic man¬ 
ner. “You’ll be ridin’ in soon,” he said in a confi¬ 
dential undertone. “Thunder Creek ain’t so far off. 
Find out a little more about the old buck and how 
well heeled he is. Then come and see me.” 

Without waiting for a reply he turned and walked 
back toward the hitching rack, thus missing a sudden 
hard glint which flashed irresistibly into Moran’s 
gray eyes. Dan banished it with a deliberate effort, 
but as he followed the gambler a faint touch of color 
tinged the clear bronze of his clean-cut face. 

“Like hell, I will!” he told himself angrily. “I 
shore would admire to put yuh wise to jest what’s 
passin’ through my mind, yuh sneakin’ polecat! ” 

But the realization that he had apparently gained 
his point and dulled the gambler’s suspicions caused 
Moran’s irritation to ebb quickly. After all, to have 
beaten Ormsby Asher at his own game of deceit was 
much more satisfying than giving way to mere pur¬ 
poseless temper. And the thought of Asher’s rage 
when, after a week or two of silence, he investigated 
the neighborhood of Thunder Creek to find no trace 
whatever of the little party, warmed the cockles of 
Dan’s heart. 

The farewells were brief — no longer, indeed, than 
it took Moran to untie the horses and swing into the 
saddle. Shirley seemed particularly eager to be off, 
though Dan noticed that she replied pleasantly 
enough to Asher’s soft-voiced remarks. But as she 



120 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


rode down the street between the two men, her cheeks 
were tinged with unwonted color, her lips set firmly. 

Standing motionless beside the hitching rack, 
Asher’s inscrutable glance followed the trio for a 
moment or two. Then he took a cigar from his vest 
pocket and biting off the end thrust it between his lips. 
As he was feeling for a match his glance encountered 
that of Bill Timmons, whose pale blue eyes expressed 
unusual interest and alertness. 

“Some dame, I’ll tell the world!” stated the 
storekeeper emphatically. 

Asher made no comment. When his cigar was 
well alight, he crossed the strip of hard-packed earth 
and paused beside the open door. 

“ What’d they buy, Bill? ” he inquired succinctly. 

Timmons stared. “ Who ? Them ? Why — er — 
He scratched his head and looked a trifle fool¬ 
ish. “Why, it was some canned goods an’ shells, 
an’ a coupla coils o’ rope, an’-” 

“ Didn’t I see a shovel and a pick in that pack?” 
interrupted Asher. 

“Why, shore! I clean forgot them. They got a 
coupla pans, too. Reckon they must be gonna pros¬ 
pect some’ers. Wonder where Moran picked ’em 
up? Thought he was over to-” 

He paused, struck by a curious expression on 
Asher’s face, and mechanically followed the direction 
of the gambler’s fixed gaze. For a moment he could 
not see what there was inside the store to attract the 





Ormsby Asher 


121 


older man’s attention. Then he discovered that 
instead of putting away the money Moran had given 
him, he had left it lying on the rough counter within 
plain sight of the door. 

“ Gosh darn it! ” he grunted, turning abruptly back 
into the store. “ I thought I put that in the drawer.” 

On a ragged scrap of paper to one side of the 
bills and loose silver lay the six smooth bits of gold 
scarcely larger than grains of rice. Timmons’ 
conscience smote him as he realized how easily a gust 
of wind might have scattered them and was reaching 
out hastily when Asher’s fingers closed about his 
wrist. 

“ Where’d you get that?” 

“What? The gold? Why, Moran give it to me 

in part payment for the stuff he bought. 

Hell’s bells! Yuh don’t mean to say it — it ain’t — 
the real thing?” 

Asher, who had taken up one of the pieces and 
was examining it closely, returned it to the paper. 

“ Looks all right to me,” he said curtly, a look of 
thoughtful speculation in his cold eyes. “ Did Moran 
have it in his clothes or did he get it from the old 
man?” 

Timmons looked blank. “Yuh got me, Orms. 
Moran handed it over with the rest o’ the coin. I 
dunno how he come by it. How would I ? ” 

Asher gave a disgusted snort. “You don’t know 
much, and that’s a fact,” he said acidly. “Truth 



122 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


is, you were so busy gawping at that girl it’s a wonder 
to me you could make change. I’ll bet they didn’t 
pay for half the junk they took away.” 

Leaving Timmons to consider this unpleasant 
possibility at leisure, he left the store and walking 
rapidly down the street, entered the gambling hall. 
The room, which was long and low with a bar across 
one end and a number of tables set around the sides, 
was unoccupied save for a blonde young man in his 
shirt sleeves, who sat with his feet on a table reading 
a tattered magazine. 

“Where’s Foss?” demanded Asher, pausing in 
front of him. 

As “Blondy” Jessup looked up, something in his 
employer’s eyes wiped the expression of boredom 
from his fresh, pink face. 

“ Out back, I reckon,” he answered hastily. “ Any¬ 
thin’ wrong? Want me to holler for him?” 

“ No,” returned Asher curtly. “ I’ll go myself.” 

Pushing through a swinging door at one side of the 
bar, he traversed a short narrow hallway and passed 
into the open at the rear of the building. 

A barn and several smaller sheds stood there, and 
beside them a well-made corral containing half a 
dozen horses. Squatting in the shade of the range of 
buildings deftly plying a harness needle to the ripped 
skirt of a saddle propped in front of him, was a man 
of twenty-eight or so, slight, though full of chest, 
wiry, with a skin, tanned to leather and muscular, 



Ormsby Asher 


123 


capable brown hands. As Asher appeared he raised 
his eyes without lifting his head and followed the 
gambler’s approach across the yard. 

“How soon can you hit the trail?” inquired 
Asher without preamble, as he paused in front of the 
other. 

“ Five minutes,” returned Foss McCoy with equal 
brevity. 

“Good. You know Moran from Saddle Butte?” 

McCoy nodded. 

“Well, he’s just left here heading west with an 
old party named Rives, his daughter and two pack 
horses. Says he’s going to Thunder Creek to 
prospect. I want to know if he’s telling me the 
truth.” 

McCoy stabbed the needle into the leather and 
rose to his feet with a lithe movement of the hips. 
Erect he looked taller and more lank. A curious 
ridged scar slanting downward from one corner of 
his mouth gave his face an unpleasant, almost sinister 
cast. 

“ I get yuh! ” he said tersely, pulling his hat for¬ 
ward over a mop of sandy hair. “You’ll have to 
come acrost, Orms. I’m stoney.” 

Without comment Asher drew out a roll of bills, 
peeled off several, and handed them to his henchman. 

“ Don’t let him know you’re trailing him,” he cau¬ 
tioned. “And don’t come back ’till you’ve got some¬ 
thing to tell. If they settle down at Thunder Creek, 



124 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


all right. If not, I want to know where they’re going 
and what they’re after. And, Foss, remember they 
call that feller Lightning.” 

McCoy’s lips twisted in a crooked smile, and he 
hitched up his cartridge belt. “ Don’t worry none,” 
he shrugged. “ I ain’t so slow m’self. Well, I’ll 
saddle up an’ cut stick.” 

Asher nodded and moved slowly toward the house. 
At the door he paused to knock the ash from his 
cigar and glanced toward the corral. For a moment 
he stood watching the swift, efficient movements of 
his henchman. Then his lids narrowed and his lips 
curled briefly in a smile of satisfaction. Re-entering 
the big room he paused at the corner of the bar 
and consulted his watch. 

“Nell Driscoll been in this morning?” he 
inquired. 

Blondy Jessup, polishing sufficiently clean glass, 
shrugged his shoulders. “ Haven’t seen her.” 

“H’m! She was to be here before noon. After 
dinner you better straddle a cayuse and slide out 
there. Tell her I’ve got to see her today sometime, 
about her father’s estate.” 

Blondy’s blue eyes widened. “Estate! What 
do yuh mean by that, Orms? 01’ Rafe Driscoll 
didn’t leave nothin’ but debts. He went an’ drank 
up every cent he had right alongside this here bar. 
Yuh got a mortgage on the house an’ contents, 
ain’t yuh?” 



Ormsby Asher 


125 


For a long moment Asher stood regarding him in 
silence. Then he took the cigar from his mouth and 
daintily flicked away the ash. 

“You can start right after dinner and be back in 
about an hour,” he commented gently. 

Jessup flushed and his lids fluttered uneasily under 
that steady, penetrating stare. “Aw’ right, aw’ 
right,” he muttered. “ I — I’ll tell her.” 

Asher quirked one eyebrow and stepping behind 
the bar poured himself a small drink, delicately 
adding a dash of water. 

“ I thought you would,” he murmured. 



CHAPTER XIX 


THE FACE IN THE WINDOW 
ONE of the three spoke until they were well 



IN clear of the last house. Then Shirley turned 
suddenly to Moran, her face still faintly flushed. 

“What a perfectly hateful man!” she declared 
emphatically. “There’s something about him that 
gives me the shivers.” 

“ I’m mighty glad yuh didn’t show it,” said Moran 
approvingly. “ Yuh shore backed up my hand to the 
queen’s taste. For a coupla minutes I sorta had cold 
feet wonderin’ if yuh’d catch on.” 

“About the man in the store, you mean? I 
guessed, of course, that you wanted me to keep his 
attention occupied. Wasn’t he silly?” She giggled 
at the recollection and then her face grew serious. 
“But, Asher— There was no premeditation about 
that, I assure you. I treated him as decently as I 
could* because— Well, he — he frightened me, 
somehow.” 

“ He’s mean all through, an’ dangerous,” declared 
Moran. “ He practically owns Hatchet, an’ he’s the 
head of a gang that’s got the Saddle Butte crowd 
beat a mile.” 

He paused, flushing at the sudden recollection of 
his own recent connection with that very gang, and 
shot a swift sidelong glance at the girl’s face. What 


126 


The Face in the Window 


127 


he saw there seemed to restore his self-confidence. 

“ I reckon they’re worse jest because they ain’t so 
raw,” he went on thoughtfully. “Asher’s got a grip 
on all the town officials an’ they say even the sheriff’s 
in with the bunch, sort of. They get away with 
murder under cover of the law an’ at a pinch they 
ain’t none too particular about stickin’ to even that.” 

“I see,” commented Colonel Rives. “That was 
why you were so friendly with the gentleman.” 

“You said it! I made a big mistake bringin’ you 
two into town at all. I’d oughta have known better; 
but goin’ around would have meant an extra two 
days of mighty hard travelin’, so I took a chance 
of slippin’ through without his seein’ us. Trouble 
was this happened to be one of his days for gettin’ 
up early.” 

“ But what does it really matter if he did see us? ” 
demanded Shirley. “Surely people just passing 
through the town aren’t in any danger from him.” 

Moran met her glance steadily, a little whimsical 
twinkle in his clear, gray eyes. 

“ To begin with people like you don’t pass through 
Hatchet very often,” he told her quietly. “ Beside 
which, he’s known me before as one of the bunch 
from Saddle Butte. The combination right away set 
him thinkin’. He decided I was up to some crooked 
work on my own, an’ expected I’d try an’ hide it from 
him. He couldn’t help see some of the stuff we’d 
packed — those picks an’ shovels give us away right 



128 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


off — so I had to make up a yam that would fit the 
facts without lettin’ slip anythin’ that was really im¬ 
portant. I told him a good yarn an’ I think he bit,” 
he concluded, “though it’s mighty hard to tell jest 
what’s goin’ on back of Orms Asher’s cast-iron face. 
O’ course we ain’t goin’ within forty miles of Thunder 
Creek; that’s away off to the northeast. He may get 
suspicious later, but if he only lays off us twenty-four 
hours I’ll gamble we’ll be so well lost back in the 
Rattlesnake Hills he’ll need an airplane to find us.” 

“ If that’s the case I should say we’d be tol’ably 
safe from the attentions of this gentleman,” observed 
Colonel Rives. “ I was watching him rather closely, 
and he didn’t look to me like a man whose suspicions 
were aroused.” 

“ He wouldn’t,” commented Dan grimly. “ Like 
I said, he ain’t showin’ his hand — any. Still, no use 
losin’ sleep over it. I wouldn’t fret none at all if 
yuh an’ me was on our own.” 

“ In other words, you wish I wasn’t along,” put in 
Shirley quickly. 

“Well, n-o; I wouldn’t go so far’s to say quite 
that,” drawled Moran, his eyes twinkling. 

“ Perhaps not, but I dare say you’re thinking it. 
Dad! Speak up and take my part. Tell this doubt¬ 
ful person how used I am to roughing it, how well I 
can cook and all the rest of it. You’ve said so to me 
often enough. Why, I even seem to remember an 
occasion when you called me a bright ray of sunshine 



The Face in the Window 


129 


around the house — though it was only a cabin.” 

“ Quite so, my dear; I admit all of that,” returned 
her father drily. “The trouble is that where we’re 
heading for there isn’t any cabin or anything even 
approaching a shelter. Of course I’m not suggesting 
that you leave us; there’s no place for you to go. 
Moran and I can put up with anything, but you-” 

“Nonsense!” cut in the girl emphatically. “One 
might think I was a delicate, hothouse flow T er. It’s 
summer and it doesn’t take long to put up a shelter. 
Besides, I can stand as much as you any day, Dad, so 
there! Almost anything, in fact,” she added 
pointedly, “ except being starved to death.” 

“ I know,” sympathized Moran, on whom she had 
cast a meaning glance. “ I’m hollow to the heels 
myself. If yuh can hold out for another mile, we’ll 
stop at Rafe Driscoll’s place an’ get him to rustle us 
some chuck. We could open a couple of cans right 
here, but I thought it wouldn’t be a bad idea to drop 
in on Rafe an’ let slip the news we’re headin’ for 
Thunder Creek. It’ll get back to Asher quick 
enough. Rafe spends his spare time — which is con- 
sid’able — loafin’ around the saloons in Hatchet, an’ 
after a few drinks he’s liable to spill out everything 
that’s on his mind.” 

“ Perhaps he won’t be home.” 

“ It ain’t likely he’s started the rounds this early. 
Anyhow, if he’s away Nell’ll treat us right.” 

Miss Rives raised her eyebrows. “Nell?” 




130 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“His daughter. She’s a nice kid — a whole lot 
too good for that rummy. You can see the house 
now — jest beyond that bunch o’ cottonwoods.” 

They had just rounded a sharp bend in the trail, 
which followed the curve of the river and now lay 
ahead of them for a considerable distance in an 
almost straight line. Following the direction 
Moran indicated, Shirley had no difficulty in picking 
out the low, log structure nestling against a back¬ 
ground of green. It seemed an attractive site for a 
home, she thought, facing the placid river with its 
marching growth of red willows and cottonwoods. 
Behind it lay sun-drenched meadows which reached to 
the base of the rugged, pine-clad hills three miles or 
more away, that formed the western boundary of this 
wide fertile basin of which Hatchet was the center. 

As they drew nearer Shirley regarded the cabin 
with interest, speculating as to the character of its 
occupants. Remembering what Moran had said of 
Rafe Driscoll, she was not surprised to note the 
tumbledown condition of the house and smaller out¬ 
buildings. There was a general air of shiftlessness 
about the whole place which was mitigated only by 
a well-tended flower bed across the front and a mass 
of sturdy morning-glories, covered with brilliant blue 
and pink blossoms, clambering over one window. 

“The girl, of course,” thought Shirley as she fol¬ 
lowed Moran’s example and dismounted. “ Poor 
thing! What a life she must lead. Is it a ranch?” 



The Face in the Window 


131 


she inquired aloud. 

“Used to be. They tell me Rafe had a good 
payin’ proposition when he first started, but it’s pretty 
much gone to pot. Last time I was here he had only 
three, four horses an’ a few head o’ cattle left.” 

He rapped briskly on the closed door, and to 
Shirley the sound seemed to reverberate through the 
house with a curious hollow emptiness. Both 
windows, she noticed, were tightly closed. 

“ It looks as if there wasn’t anybody home,” she 
commented, when a minute or two had passed in 
silence. 

Dan nodded, but rapped again. An, instant later 
Shirley, happening to glance toward the window 
above which the morning-glories clustered, was aware 
of a face staring at her through the small-paned, 
wavering glass. A rather thin, oval face it was, 
shadowed by a wide hat brim; but before Shirley had 
time to notice any further details it vanished. 

“Why!” she cried out in surprise. “There is 
someone-” 

Abruptly she broke off as the door swung slowly 
open and a girl stood on the threshold. A very 
pretty girl indeed, Shirley decided at once, in spite of 
the dusky shadows under her blue eyes and a curious, 
unnatural pallor which seemed to bring out certain 
sharp lines — one might have thought them hard, 
even tense — about her shapely mouth and chin. 

“ Howdy,” Moran greeted her pleasantly. “ I 




132 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


thought— We wondered— Say! Yo’re jest goin’ 
out, ain’t yuh? ” 

“ I was.” 

The girl’s voice was low and husky. As she spoke 
her gaze shifted for an instant from Moran to 
Shirley Rives. It was the briefest possible glance, yet 
it was enough to make Shirley catch her breath, so 
strained and hunted was the expression she read in 
those blue depths. 

“We won’t bother yuh, then,” said Moran hesi¬ 
tatingly. “ I jest thought mebbe we could get a bite 
to eat, but—I s’pose yore father ain’t home?” 

The girl’s eyes widened and her pallor vanished 
before a flood of crimson which surged to the very 
roots of her striking hair; hair so exquisitely fair that 
it had passed the golden state and shone with a pale, 
silvery luster. For an instant she stood stricken, 
staring at Moran with startled surprise and 
incredulity. 

“ My father! ” she repeated at length in a strange 
tone. Again she hesitated briefly and bit her lip. 
“Why, he — he’s been dead a month.” 



CHAPTER XX 

THE EVIL SHADOW 

I T WAS Shirley who broke the momentary shocked 
silence which followed the announcement. 

“ Oh! ” she cried impulsively. “ Oh my dear!” 
Dan’s jaw dropped and the color deepened under 
his tan. “I shore am sorry, Nell,” he told the girl 
awkwardly. “I — I hadn’t heard a word about it. 
Haven’t been near Hatchet in three, four months, 
yuh know.” 

She took his proffered hand. “ It had to come, I 
s’pose,” she said, a touch of bitterness in her voice. 

“ You know the way he — he-” 

“Uh-huh,” nodded Moran as she paused. “It 
shore is a rotten shame. Well, we won’t bother yuh 
none, Nell. We can easy camp out along the road.” 

He was turning away when the girl suddenly halted 
him. 

“ You’ll do no such thing,” she said quickly. “ I’m 
not in such a rush I can’t stop and cook a bite o’ din¬ 
ner. You come right in — all of you. Or mebbe 
you’d better put the horses in the corral first.” 

Watching her, Shirley was bewildered at the sur¬ 
prising transformation. She spoke firmly and decis¬ 
ively. The pallor had vanished from her face, which 
glowed with a delicate wild rose pink. Her eyes had 
quite lost that strained hunted look; there was relief, 
133 



134 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


yes, actual relief, in their clear depths. 

“Are you quite certain—” protested Miss Rives. 

“ Of course I am. It won’t be a mite o’ trouble. 
Though I’m not sure—” her color deepened a trifle 
“ there’s — there’s very much in the house just now.” 

“ If that’s all, we can help out easily,” said Shirley 
suddenly making up her mind. “We’ve plenty of 
canned things and bacon and— Dad! Get some 
canned corn and bacon and coffee out of the pack, 
will you, before you take the horses around.” 

Colonel Rives complied, and with her arms full, 
Shirley followed Nell Driscoll, who had gone ahead, 
she said, to start a fire. But as Shirley stepped into 
the kitchen, a few minutes later, Nell was just coming 
out of another room the door of which she closed 
sharply behind her. 

Wondering a little, Shirley set down her bundles 
and the two at once kindled a fire in the range and 
started to prepare the meal. It was very quickly evi¬ 
dent that even in this short interval Nell Driscoll’s 
attitude had changed again. She talked spasmodi¬ 
cally, asking no questions of the other girl, showing 
little curiosity in her presence here or ultimate des¬ 
tination, seeming, indeed, absorbed in her own 
thoughts. But every movement was almost feverishly 
swift as if, Shirley thought, amidst the careless chatter 
with which she strove to fill the awkward pauses, the 
girl was after all frantically anxious for the meal to 
be over so that she could get away. 



The Evil Shadow 


135 


Puzzled and a little troubled, Shirley did her best 
to hurry things and between them the cooking was 
finished with uncommon dispatch. As soon as the 
other dishes were on the table, she left Nell to re¬ 
move the bacon from the skillet, and turned toward 
the back door to summon the two men, who were out¬ 
side talking. She had scarcely taken three steps when 
a stifled gasp made her turn swiftly. 

Close to one end of the stove, a window overlooked 
the long straight stretch of trail leading back to 
Hatchet. Out of this window Nell was staring, face 
pallid, eyes dilated and full of terror. 

“ Oh! ” she moaned. “O — h!” 

Shirley flew across the room. “What is it?” she 
cried, peering over the girl’s rigid shoulder. 

A man was loping toward the cabin along the sunlit 
trail — young, handsome and very blonde. He 
looked harmless enough and Shirley, getting no an¬ 
swer to her question, repeated it. Nell turned and 
looked into her face. 

“ I’m afraid,” she whispered in a stricken voice. 

“Afraid! Of him? What do you mean? What 
can he— Why, Dan’s here, and dad. Surely you 
don’t think they’d stand still and let anyone-” 

Nell moistened her lips. “You don’t understand. 
He’s Blondy Jessup, one of — Asher’s men.” 

In spite of her assurance a little chill crept over 
Shirley’s spine. Asher! Vividly she recalled a cer¬ 
tain expression in those coldly brilliant eyes as they 




136 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


had looked her up and down that morning, and some 
of her bright color faded.* 

“ But — but what’s he want? ” she asked. 

Nell turned and looked at her steadily. “Jessup? 
Nothing. He’s been sent, that’s all, to get me to — 

comedown — to Hatchet.I know.” 

Shirley’s hands clenched and her lips tightened. 
“ But—but how— A place like this! Surely there 

are people who would prevent-” 

“ You don’t know Ormsby Asher,” the girl told 
her bitterly. “He owns the town, and always, some 
way or other, he gets what he wants. That’s what 
makes me so afraid. That’s why—” She hesitated 
an instant and then went on recklessly. “ I may as 
well say it. When you came I had my horse saddled 
and was all ready to run away. If only I’d 
gone-” 

She broke off with a half sob. Shirley, her eyes 
fixed on the approaching Jessup, was thinking rapidly. 

“ Couldn’t you put him off?” she asked presently. 
“Say you’ll ride in after dinner, and then— Or if 
you couldn’t get rid of him that way, Moran and 
dad could hold him up and — and leave him tied up 
here while we— Perhaps that’s the best way, after 

all. I’ll call them, and-” 

As she turned Nell caught her arm. “ Wait,” she 
urged in a firmer voice. “ I’ve got an idea. I just 
remembered. You dish up the bacon an’ let me talk 
to him.” 






The Evil Shadow 


137 


Already Jessup had reached the front of the cabin 
and was leisurely dismounting. As Shirley mechani¬ 
cally forked the bacon out of the skillet, marveling a 
little at Nell’s sudden courage, she anxiously watched 
the girl step toward the door. A moment later 
Blondy stood on the threshold, his bold eyes sweeping 
the room in evident surprise. 

“Hello, Nell!” he said, though his glance was 
fixed approvingly on Shirley Rives. “Ain’t yuh had 
dinner yet?” 

“ I’ve got company an’ we’re a little late,” returned 
the girl evenly. She stood close to the door so that it 
was impossible, without crowding around her, for 
Jessup to step into the room. “Anything special you 
wanted? ” 

The man gave a slightly irritated laugh. “Well, 
yes, there is,” he returned shortly. “ Seems like yuh 
might ask a fellah to come in an’ set down after ridin’ 
all the way out here, though.” 

“ I didn’t know you needed asking,” retorted the 
girl, with a very realistic imitation of a smile. “ Come 
in, of course, if you want to. Moran’s out back 
waitin’ for dinner. I was just goin’ to call him 
in.” 

Shirldy, fussing at the table, saw the man give a 
little start, swiftly suppressed and straighten slightly. 

“Moran?” he repeated. “Yuh mean — Dan 
Moran? ” 

“ Sure,” nodded Nell, a touch almost of malice in 



138 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


her sweet voice. “ Come on in an’ have dinner with 
us.” 

Instead of acquiescing, Blondy took a quick step 
backward. “ ’Fraid I can’t — today,” he said hastily. 
“ I was jest kiddin’ when I said that. I’ve et already 
an’ I gotta get back to tend bar. Asher wanted I 
should ask yuh to come in an’ — an’ see him this 
afternoon. He wants yuh ’special about yore dad’s 
estate.” 

“Oh!” Nell’s hands, hanging at her sides, 
clenched spasmodically, but her voice did not falter. 
“ I was coming this mornin’, but I got held up. Tell 
him I’ll be in as soon as I get things washed up. By 
three o’clock, anyhow.” 

“Aw right,” Blondy was already swinging into 
the saddle. “ You’ll shorely come? ” he added, gath¬ 
ering up the reins. “He says it’s important.” 

The girl swallowed hard and caught the edge of 
the door jamb with one hand. “ Oh, yes,” she called 
after him. “ I’ll surely come.” 

With a thud of hoofs Jessup flashed past the win¬ 
dow. Nell turned a white face on Shirley. 

“ You see,” she whispered. “ I knew it was some¬ 
thing like that. “He’s-” 

She broke off as Moran darted into the room and 
crossed swiftly to the end window. 

“ Who was that?” he demanded. “Huh! Blondy 
Jessup! ” he exclaimed before Nell could answer. He 
turned a puzzled face toward the girl. “What in 




The Evil Shadow 


139 


thunder was that four-flusher doin’ here?” 

Nell’s color deepened slightly, but without falter¬ 
ing she told him what had happened. 

“ I remembered hearing the last time you were 
here you an’ he had a run in, an’ he got the worst of 
it,” she concluded. “ That’s why I told him you were 
outside. But for that he’d have stayed an’ made 
sure I rode in to Hatchet. Asher—” She paused, 
biting her lips. “ He’s been pestering me ever since 
— I’m afraid of him and when you came I was all 
ready to run away.” 

“Away? From here? Yuh mean yuh’d leave 
yore home an’ everythin’ an’ beat it because of him? ” 

Nell laughed mirthlessly. “ It isn’t my home. 
Dad had it mortgaged up to the hilt, an’ Asher owns 
everything. But even if it wasn’t that way, I — I’d 

go-” 

Moran’s eyes narrowed. “Where to?” he asked 
briefly. 

“ I don’t know exactly. I thought I’d go first to 
the Bar S. Mrs. Haight’s been a good friend to me 
the few times we’ve met, and she hates Asher. She’d 
take me in, I’m sure, ’till I could think what to do.” 

“ The Bar S! Why, that’s over on the edge of the 
Rattlesnake Hills. We’re headin’ in that direction. 
You could come along with us-” 

He paused, flashing an inquiring glance at Shirley, 
who nodded ready acquiescence. 

“ Of course,” she agreed. “ That’s the very thing. 




140 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


But hadn’t we better eat our dinner before it’s quite 
cold?” 

“We had,” smiled Moran. “An’ we don’t wanl 
to lose any time tuckin’ it away, either. Blondy’s a 
poor prune, but he ain’t quite ready for the bug 
house. He’ll spill out everythin’ he’s seen the minute 
he gets back to town, an’ yuh can’t tell what notions 
that’ll put into Asher’s head. Sooner we fan the 
breeze from here the better.” 



CHAPTER XXI 

RESENTMENT 

N O TIME was lost following his suggestion. 

They did not even wait to clean up, but the 
moment dinner was finished Nell fetched from the 
next room a bundle containing the few personal be¬ 
longings she had already packed up. Her horse 
stood in the corral saddled, and when this was fas¬ 
tened back of the cantle, they mounted and were off. 

About three miles beyond the cabin the trail 
forked. One branch continued westward while the 
other turned abruptly to the right, following the 
curve of the river. The latter branch led toward 
Thunder Creek and Moran followed it for nearly 
two miles to a point where a spine of exposed rock 
cut across it. Here, under his direction the whole 
party left the trail and pushed through the brush in 
a southwesterly direction which would bring them out 
at length into the rougher, mountainous tract leading 
toward the Bar S and the Rattlesnake Hills. 

It was hard going and they made slow progress. 
Indeed, Colonel Rives mildly questioned the neces¬ 
sity of wasting so much time and effort to hide their 
trail. But Moran had his own reasons for acting in 
this fashion. 

As a matter of fact that pleasant sense of having 
pulled the wool over Ormsby Asher’s eyes had been 
141 


142 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


of short duration. Instinct, coupled with a past 
knowledge of the man, told him that the brains of 
that band of sleek crooks and criminals which domi¬ 
nated Hatchet was not to be so easily deceived, and 
the appearance of Blondy Jessup served merely to 
strengthen his doubts. He could not quite believe 
that Asher’s henchman had come all this way merely 
to bring that message to Nell Driscoll, though of 
course it might be barely possible. At all events it 
put him even more on his guard, made him remember 
that there were others beside Jessup ready and eager 
at all times to obey Asher’s behest, caused him at 
every favorable elevation or other point of vantage 
to keep a close though unobtrusive lookout toward 
the rear. 

But even his keen eyes detected nothing in the least 
suspicious. If they were being followed, the unknown 
individual was using extraordinary skill and clever¬ 
ness to remain unseen. Dan would very much have 
liked to take reassurance from this apparent proof 
that he was wrong, but somehow it gave him little 
real comfort. 

It was nearly four o’clock when they gained the 
other trail and set their faces toward the rugged hills 
and bold rocky slopes, most of them covered by a 
heavy forest growth, which loomed up to the west¬ 
ward. 

Through this increasingly rough wilderness the 
narrow tract twisted its sinuous wav. Unlike the 



Resentment 


143 


lower trail it was not a thoroughfare, leading only 
to the Bar S and one or two even smaller outfits be¬ 
yond. And since the owners of these ranches pre¬ 
ferred to ship their cattle from Fanning, a flourishing 
railroad town in the next county, beyond the sphere 
of Ormsby Asher’s influence, it was little used. 

The sun had slid down behind the jagged skyline, 
when the little party halted on the rim of a long and 
very narrow valley which spread its attenuated length 
of verdure between two irregular lines of rocky hills 
which were almost mountains. To the southward 
especially the jagged outlines of piled granite, some 
of them gaunt and bare, others clothed with a heavy 
growth of spruce and pine and cedar, rose tier on 
tier in intricate confusion. Here and there an isolated 
peak gilded fantastically by the dying sun, was etched 
boldly against the skyline. Moran’s eyes sparkled 
as he realized that somewhere in that chaotic wilder¬ 
ness lay the source of the Moon River and with it that 
rich treasure they had come to seek. 

The descent into the Bar S valley was slow and 
tedious, but the worst was over when they gained the 
level. It was not quite dark when they pulled up 
before a comfortable and commodious log ranch 
house which, with its accompanying sheds and bunk 
house and other outbuildings, nestled close to the foot 
of the Rattlesnake Hills. From the rear door a 
bristling terrier rushed out, yelping hysterically. He 
was closely followed by a tall, broad-shouldered per- 



144 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


son in boots and overalls wearing a wide brimmed felt 
hat. Until she spoke Shirley and her father quite 
failed to realize that it was Mrs. Haight. 

“Howdy,” she greeted them in a deep, mellow 
voice, peering through the dusk. “ Pat! Quit that 
racket! ” She made a threatening sweep of her hand 
at the dog. “Climb down, strangers, an’— Why, 
land sake! If it ain’t Nell Driscoll.” 

Nell slid out of her saddle and approached the 
older woman. For a few minutes she spoke rapidly 
in a low tone, her explanations punctuated at inter¬ 
vals by an angry rumble from Mrs. Haight. 

“Why, shore yuh can!” exclaimed the latter at 
length. “ Stay as long as yuh like; I’ll be plumb glad 
to have yore comp’ny. Yuh needn’t be scared o’ that 
snake Asher, neither. I shore would admire to have 
him come snoopin’ around the Bar S. He’d get his 
come uppins, believe me. What about yore friends? 
Ain’t they cornin’ in?” 

Shirley, who was the nearest, met her glance with 
a smile. “We’d be awfully glad to,” she said 
promptly. They had discussed the question along the 
way and decided that they might bespeak Mrs. 
Haight’s hospitality for the night at least. “ If you 
could put us up over night without too much 
trouble-” 

“Shucks! No trouble at all. Yo’re welcome. It 
ain’t of’en anybody drops in, an’ I’m mighty glad to 
have yuh. Come right in an’ we’ll start supper while 





Resentment 


145 


yore men look after the nags.” 

She turned toward the open door, the others fol¬ 
lowing. On the threshold she halted, her strong, 
wholesome, weatherbeaten face clearly outlined in 
the mellow glow streaming from the lighted room. 

“The corral’s jest a step down the slope this side 
o’ the bunk house,” she exclaimed, glancing toward 
the two men. “ If yuh need any help or want any¬ 
thin’, get one o’ the boys-” 

Abruptly she broke off, her narrowing gaze fixed 
intently on Moran, whose face was for the first time 
really visible. 

“Why—why — you—” she said in puzzled sur¬ 
prise. Suddenly recognition flashed into her snapping 
eyes and her face hardened. “Yo’re Moran from 
Saddle Butte,” she accused harshly. 

“You’ve hit the li’le black bullseye, ma’am,” 
drawled Dan quietly, though he felt the blood rising 
into his face. “From is right.” 

“ But what—” Mrs. Haight paused, her keen 
suspicious glance flashing from one face to another. 
It came to rest on Shirley, who had dismounted, and 
lingering there a space softened somewhat. “Waal,- 
you’d better put the horses up,” she ended curtly, and 
turning, thumped into the kitchen. 

In silence Moran took the bridle of Shirley’s roan 
and rode off toward the corral, Colonel Rives follow¬ 
ing with the two other horses. By this time it was so 
dark that a lantern was necessary, and the curious 




146 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


looks and chilly manner of the men in the bunk house, 
whither Dan went to get one, did not tend to restore 
his good humor. He was sensible enough to realize 
that the behavior of Mrs. Haight and her punchers 
was no more than natural. They had known him 
only as a member of a gang of outlaws and cattle 
thieves who were a scourge to the neighboring coun¬ 
try— as an ally if not a friend of Ormsby Asher, 
with whom the whole outfit was continually at odds. 
How could he expect to be treated otherwise than 
with cold suspicion? 

But for all that he felt sore and disgruntled as he 
and Colonel Rives unsaddled, fed and watered the 
horses almost in silence. Had he not genuinely given 
up the old life and turned against his former associ¬ 
ates totally and completely—even to the extent of 
raising up a dozen or more bitter enemies any one 
of whom would undoubtedly shoot him on sight? 
What more could he do ? And where was the justice 
in treating him still as if he were an outcast, not fit 
for association with decent people? Into the colonel’s 
abstraction he read a new reserve if not suspicion and 
as the two walked back to the ranch house, Dan’s 
mind was full of bitterness and sharp resentment. 



CHAPTER XXII 

SEPARATION 

W HAT he found there did not tend to soothe 
his troubled spirit. Mrs. Haight stood over 
the stove, lips compressed and eyes determined. 
Nell’s pretty, tanned face was uneasy and uncertain. 
Shirley, flushed and rebellious, stood beside the neatly 
spread table. As the men entered she flashed a swift 
glance at Moran, but looked away before he could 
read the expression in her brown eyes. 

“Talkin’ me over,” thought Dan, his lips curling 
slightly. “Well, they’re shore welcome to.” 

The sense of restraint, so plainly evidenced, lasted 
throughout the meal, which was presently served. 
There was little conversation, and it was spasmodic 
and palpably forced. Moran made no effort to ease 
the situation. His sore resentment gained strength 
and force, and by the time the table was cleared and 
the dishes cleaned up, he was ready at the slightest 
provocation to fling up the whole business on which 
they were embarked. For a moment he thought that 
provocation was coming as Mrs. Haight clattered the 
last dish onto a shelf beside the stove and turned 
toward them, her square, weather-beaten face reso¬ 
lute and determined. 

“ The girls have been tellin’ me what yo’re plannin’ 
for,” she said, eyeing Moran squarely. “ I ain’t got 
147 


148 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


nothin’ to say about you two men goin’ off into the 
mountains prospectin’, no matter how much of a fool 
business I may think it is. But this I will say: It 
ain’t fit for a young girl to trapse off into the wilds 
with two men even if one of ’em is her father. She’d 
much better stay right here an’ keep Nell an’ me 
comp’ny.” 

So that was it! He wasn’t to be trusted with the 
girl! Moran bit his lips and with an effort refrained 
from giving voice to what was in his mind. Colonel 
Rives stared at his hostess in surprise and swiftly 
growing approval. 

“ You mean you’d be willing to have her stay here 
with you ? ” he asked doubtfully. “ It might be weeks 
or even months before-” 

“That’s nothing to me,” cut in Mrs Haight, sub¬ 
siding heavily into a stout chair. “ There’s plenty o’ 
room an’ I’ll be right glad to have her. She may 
find it dull—” with a significant glance at Shirley — 
“ but it’d be a great sight better for her than campin' 
out in that rough, wild-” 

“ It isn’t that, Mrs. Haight,” broke in Shirley, 
turning a flushed, troubled face toward the older 
woman. “ It would be lovely here and I know I 
shouldn’t have a dull minute. I’m awfully grateful to 
you, too, for thinking of taking me in this way. But 
I’m used to roughing it, and I’m sure I could be of 
help to father and — er — Mr. Moran by cooking 
and— Well, lots of ways. Dad’s all I’ve got, and 





Separation 


149 


we haven’t been separated for-” 

“ But my dear,” interrupted Colonel Rives, 
“ don’t you see how much better an arrangement this 
would be? All along we’ve worried a good deal at 
the thought of the hardships you’d have to go 
through. I’d miss you, of course — miss you a great 
deal. But my mind would be much easier knowing 
that you were safe and comfortable here with Mrs. 
Haight.” 

“Jest what I been sayin’,” declared the older 
woman with satisfaction. “ I’m glad to see yuh got 
that much sense, Colonel. Well, that’s settled, praise 
be! Now we can set down comfortable an’ enjoy 
the evenin’. There ain’t been anybody drop in for 
weeks, an’ I’m sorta parched for news. What’s been 
goin’ on in Hatchet, Nell? How’s Mis’ Stebbins, an’ 
what come o’ that sister o’ hers who was on from 
Clayton for a visit?” 

Shirley’s lips parted impulsively, but as she took in 
the solid, competent, determined air of her hostess, 
her protest remained unuttered. With a helpless lit¬ 
tle movement of her shoulders, she glanced swiftly 
toward Moran, only to find his gaze fixed sullenly on 
the floor. 

For an instant she stood hesitating, a faint flush 
creeping up into her face. Then abruptly, heedless 
of Mrs. Haight’s open disapproval and of Nell Dris¬ 
coll’s scantily veiled curiosity, she swiftly crossed the 
room and paused before him. Unerringly she seemed 




150 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


to sense the cause of his discontent. 

“ I’m sorry,” she said in a low tone. “ I told her 
that you had left Saddle Butte for good, but— 
she-” 

“ She’s certain shore, I’m out to skin yuh an’ yore 
dad, I’ll bet,” put in Dan, a touch of hardness in his 
voice. “ I expect she’s told yuh I was jest lyin’ so to 
get the best of you two. Ain’t that right? ” 

Shirley’s lids dropped under the direct gaze of 
those cool, slightly accusing gray eyes, but lifted 
swiftly again. 

“But why do you care?” she countered swiftly. 
“ You know, and I know, and Dad, too, that it isn’t 
true. What difference does it make what she thinks? 
Besides, she’s bound to find out the truth soon.” 

Moran’s gaze softened and a faint smile momen¬ 
tarily quirked the corners of his lips. “ Mebbe yore 
right,” he admitted. “ I expect I’m a fool to let it 
bother me. I s’pose I oughta be thankful her havin’ 
it in for me made her want yuh to stop here on the 
Bar S.” 

“ Oh! ” reproachfully. “ Why, you’re as bad as 
Dad, wanting to get rid of me.” 

There was a pause in which he stood looking at 
her in a way that brought the color into the girl’s 
face. 

“ No,” he returned slowly, “ it ain’t that. I reckon 
yuh know it ain’t. I’d like a heap to have yuh with 
us, but yuh see, I know that country. The old lady’s 




Separation 


151 


right when she says it ain’t any place for a woman.” 

“ But you’ll be gone :ever so long,” she said dis¬ 
mally. 

“ Not likely. If things are like I think, we oughta 
make a quick clean-up. If they ain’t— Well, that’ll 
bring us back all the sooner. Say! How much did 
yuh tell Mrs. Haight? Yuh didn’t let on-” 

“ Oh, no.” Instinctively they both pitched their 
voices low so that only an indistinct murmur reached 
the three people on the other side of the room. “ I 
only repeated what you told Nell. Neither of them 
have the least idea we’ve a special, definite clue to 
follow. That’s why Mrs. Haight thinks it’ll be noth¬ 
ing but a wild goose chase.” 

“ Good. Let her think so, though I reckon she’s 
safe enough. Well, I better say good night, I think. 
I want to go out an’ look over the outfit so there 
won’t be any time wasted in the mornin’. We oughta 
start as soon as we can see to ride.” 

“ You mean you still think someone might be fol¬ 
lowing? ” 

“ I don’t know, but there’s no sense takin’ chances. 
We’ll be off by daybreak, an’ if there ain’t anybody to 
fool, so much the better. So it’ll be good-bye, too, 
for a while, I reckon. No use yore gettin’ up that 
early.” 

“ But I will! How could you think I’d not at least 
be up to see you off.” 

And so she was. Though Nell Driscoll still slept 




152 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


the sleep of worn out nerves relaxed at last, Shirley 
rose long before daybreak, helped Mrs. Haight pre¬ 
pare breakfast and sat down with the two men while 
they ate it. Afterward she walked with them as far 
as the beginning of the trail leading back into the 
mountains. And long after the hard gray shadows 
had swallowed up her slim, graceful figure, there 
lingered in Moran’s mind a vivid memory of her 
brown eyes, raised to his; he still thrilled at the recol¬ 
lection of the decided grip of her firm, cool fingers. 



CHAPTER XXIII 

SPIKE MOGRIDGE 

L EANING back in his special chair, Ormsby Asher 
j fixed his lieutenant with a chilling glance. 
“Eleven days — twelve, including today — it’s 
taken you to find out this!” he rapped out contemptu¬ 
ously. u It’s a wonder to me you didn’t finish up the 
two weeks and call it a vacation.” 

Foss McCoy squirmed uneasily under his employ¬ 
er’s scornful regard. “Yuh might think I’d been 
loafin’,” he retorted sullenly. “Ain’t I told yuh my 
hoss was wore down to a whisper navigatin’ them 
doggone mountains, an’ as for me, I lost ten good 
pounds an’ like to starved to death before I met up 
with that fellah, Mosby. I ain’t never claimed to be 
no wonder, but-” 

“You said a mouthful!” put in Asher cuttingly. 
“ Blondy’s plumb solid from the neck up, but I’ll 
gamble even he’d have dug up something.” 

“Huh! He would, would he?” hung back the 
exasperated McCoy. “ I’d shore admire to see him. 
What ’ud yuh have me do, anyhow? Here I trace 
the hull blasted bunch to the Bar S, for all they tried 
to throw me off’n the track by startin’ out on the 
Thunder Creek trail. They gets there at dusk, an’ 
next mornin’ at sunup Moran an’ the ol’ codger is 
both flitted, an’ I ain’t seen hide or hair of ’em since.” 
153 



154 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“Did you try the Fanning trail?” inquired Asher 
curtly. 

“ Shore I did. That’s what I done first off, but 
the tracks there was all old. Looks like they musta 
struck back into the mountains, so I circled around 
the lower end o’ Bar S valley, an’ I been combin’ the 
hills ever since. I dunno what more I could of done, 
short o’ payin’ a call on Ma Haight an’ askin’ her 
perlite which way her friends went.” 

“You might have done worse,” averred Asher, 
feeling in his pocket for a cigar. “ It ain’t hard to 
fake up an excuse that’ll fool a woman.” 

“ Oh, ain’t it? Yuh talk like Ma Haight was some 
kind of a greenhorn. An’ how about Cass Burton 
an’ Jerry White? After that business last spring, 
they’d either of ’em pull down on me on sight. I 
shore would like to know what yuh expect of me, 
anyhow, Orms.” 

“ Results,” stated Asher with cold succinctness. 

Scratching a match on the underside of the chair, 
he held it to his cigar. When this was drawing well, 
he rose and moving over to the window, stood staring 
out, hands linked loosely beneath his long coattails. 

“Results!” he repeated harshly. “That’s what 
I want, and what I aim to get from anyone I hire. 
You don’t find me kickin’ about costs, or time spent 
or anything else, do you, so long as you produce re¬ 
sults? ” Shaggy eyebrows contracted, he shot a hard 
glance at McCoy. “Looks like we’d have to have 



Spike Mogridge 


155 


another deal all around,” he went on significantly. 
“Here’s you failin’ down hard, an’ Jessup makin’ 
even more of a boggy ford with that business of Rafe 
Driscoll’s girl.” 

McCoy moistened his lips. His blustering air had 
subsided with the abrupt completeness of a pricked 
balloon. 

“ She’s stayin there at the Bar S, along with the 
other one,” he muttered, in a hurried effort to dis¬ 
tract Asher’s attention from his own failings. “ I 
dunno how the devil they come together. Moran 
never paid no attention to Nell when he was here 
before.” 

For a space Asher made no comment. Still staring 
absently out of the window, his coldly brilliant eyes 
narrowed the least trifle and the slight movement of 
his hands beneath the coattails ceased. 

“You saw ’em together?” he asked at length. 

“ Shore. On my way back I stopped to give the 
ranch the once-over again. They was ridin’ along 
the upper end o’ the valley. I had my glasses with 
me, an’ got a good look at ’em.” 

“ H’m! Was Mrs. Haight with ’em, or any of the 
Bar S men?” 

“ Nope. They was alone not far from where the 
trail goes down from the rim. While I was lookin’ 
at ’em the other gal got off’n her hoss to tighten up 
the cinch, or somethin’. I thinks to myself at the 
time that-” 




156 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


He paused, suddenly aware that Asher was no 
longer attending. His narrowed eyes were fixed in¬ 
tently on something in the street outside, and across 
his hawklike face there rippled momentarily an ex¬ 
pression of intense irritation. Through the open win¬ 
dow came the thud of hoofs, the creak of saddle 
leather, the clear jingle of a spur. 

“ It’s Spike Mogridge,” said Asher, turning 
sharply on McCoy. “Not a peep out of you about 
this to him or any of the fellahs he’s got with him. 
Remember that.” 

“ I get yuh,” replied Foss hastily. “ Yuh needn’t 
fret none about my babblin’, Orms. I know how to 
keep a still tongue.” 

His palpable relief at this opportune interruption 
drew a sour smile from Asher. 

“You better,” he stated meaningly as he moved 
toward the door. “ Slip out the back way, an’ keep 
outa sight ’till I send for you. We’ll go over this 
again — later.” 

The barroom, hazy with tobacco smoke and re¬ 
sounding with rough talk and laughter, was well filled 
with patrons, a goodly proportion of whom crowded 
about the bar at one end. It was characteristic of 
Ormsby Asher’s movements that no one seemed to see 
him enter. 

At one moment he was absent; at the next he 
might be seen leaning carelessly against the bar 
listening indifferently to the garrulous remarks of 



Spike Mogridge 


157 


Jed Zeek, who appeared to have been drinking over 
much. Even Blondy Jessup, who, in spite of a 
rather insipid regularity of feature, missed very little 
that went on within range of his long-lashed violet 
eyes, was not immediately aware of his employer’s 
presence. 

It was curious that Jessup, after a single, searching 
glance at his apparently absorbed patron, should 
glance swiftly toward the outer door. When there 
entered presently a tall, broad-shouldered man of 
thirty odd, handsome in a bold, full-blooded fashion 
despite divers freshly healed abrasions and faint, 
greenish-yellow shadows beneath his slightly puffed 
eyes, Blondy’s somewhat ingenuous countenance was 
immediately wiped of all expression. Hastily sliding 
bottle and glass toward a clamorous patron, he 
reached for a towel and began to mop the bar top 
with meticulous precision. But all the while, from 
under those curling lashes, he closely followed the 
movements of the newcomer and the two men who 
had entered at his heels. 

For a moment or two the former stood just inside 
the door staring around the crowded, smoke-filled 
room. Then, catching sight of Asher, his eyes bright¬ 
ened and he made his way directly toward the pro¬ 
prietor. 

“Hello, ol’ timer!” he said, bringing one hand 
down on the sloping, broadcloth-covered shoulder 
nearest him. “How’s tricks?” 



158 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Asher’s surprise was not overdone. He turned 
negligently, and as his glance rested on the tall man’s 
face, one eyebrow quirked characteristically. 

“Well, Spike,” he drawled, quite as if he had not 
been fully aware of the other’s every movement. 
“ When’d you hit town?” 

“About two minutes ago,” responded Mogridge. 
“ I got a mouth like a wad o’ cottonwool,” he added 
pointedly. 

Asher summoned Blondy with a movement of his 
eyebrows. “Name your pizen,” he suggested, includ¬ 
ing Mogridge’s two companions in the invitation. 

The three lost no time in lining up against the bar. 
When a couple of man-sized drinks had been swal¬ 
lowed, Mogridge set down his glass and glanced at 
Asher. 

“ I’m after that polecat, Dan Moran,” he stated 
belligerently. “The cow-faced lump o’ slumgullion 
went on the prod over to Saddle Butte ten days or so 
ago an’ shot up the joint. Plugged Bill Scully in the 
arm an’ raised a helluva time before he left, a-boilin’. 
Me an’ Monk an’ Squint tracked him part way to 
Clayton an’ then lost his trail. I’m wonderin’ if he 
mighta doubled back an’ cut down through the Gap.” 

Asher raised his eyebrows. “Moran!” he com¬ 
mented in surprise, an emotion not entirely assumed, 
for he was learning things. “Well! What got his 
dander up ? I thought you were all nice an’ friendly 
together.” 



Spike Mogridge 


159 


Friendly — hell!” Mogridge flushed darkly. 
“ He’s yaller, he is, the lousy pup! I’ve suspicioned 
it some while, an’ was jest about ready to tie the can 
to him when he lit out. Yuh mean to say he ain’t 
been here? ” 

For an instant Asher hesitated, wondering how far 
he could play this big, blustering individual, whom, 
though he found useful and at times, perhaps, a little 
dangerous, he held in secret contempt. But before 
he had time to utter his swiftly formed reply, his 
hand was forced. 

“ Shore he was — a week ago Friday.” It was the 
voice of Jed Zeek, a trifle thick but distinct enough 
for all that. In his eagerness he swayed forward 
from where he had been hugging the bar directly back 
of Asher. “ Him an’ a gal an’ an old geezer with a 
black mustache. They pulled up in front o’ Tim¬ 
mons’ store at twenty-past eight, an’ all three of ’em 
went in — an’ — an’-” 

Under a swift, sidelong, scorching glance from 
Asher, Zeek’s voice faltered, quavered and died away. 
Save for the stimulation of a glass or two beyond the 
ordinary it is quite unlikely that even his love of 
gossip would have tempted him to break in so rashly 
upon a conversation in which Ormsby Asher, as he 
now realized only too poignantly, had such evident 
concern. As the older man’s venomous glare stabbed 
him, the hotel keeper’s jaw sagged and he stumbled 
back against the supporting bulk of the bar. 





160 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“Well?” snapped Mogridge, his eyes glowing 
with sudden triumph and excitement. “ What’d they 
do? Where’d they go? What’s the matter with 
yuh, Zeek? Ain’t yuh got no tongue?” 

Suddenly he turned and stared suspiciously at 
Asher. “ Why’n’t yuh tell me first off he was here ? ” 
he demanded harshly. 

“You didn’t give me time,” rejoined Asher 
smoothly. “ I saw him and talked to him, but how 
was I to know he’d busted things up the way you say. 
He told me you and he had split, but-” 

He paused, his keen glance sweeping the faces of 
the men near him, several of whom were showing a 
distinct interest in the conversation. 

“ Suppose we step into my room,” he suggested 
significantly. “We’ll be more comfortable there.” 

Still scowling, Mogridge hesitated an instant and 
then shrugged his shoulders. “Aw right,” he ac¬ 
quiesced shortly. “Yuh fellahs stick around,” he 
added to Greer and Henger. “ I’ll be out before 
long.” 

He evidently knew the way, for he strode past 
Asher toward the door in the corner, thus missing a 
brief but potent glance the proprietor cast at Jed 
Zeek. It was merely a passing stare, but so full of 
venom and distinct, unpleasing promise that the stout 
hotel keeper turned a mottled gray, and when he was 
able to pull himself together, he staggered through 
the crowd and vanished into the gathering dusk. 




CHAPTER XXIV 

THE SPIDER SPINS A WEB 


H AVING closed the door of his private room, 
Asher lit the lamp on the center table, closed 
the window, produced bottle and glasses, and mo¬ 
tioned Mogridge to a comfortable chair. It was 
worthy of remark that while his guest faced the un¬ 
compromising glare of the powerful oil burner, 
Asher’s own features were more or less shadowed. 
He had managed the position of the chairs so casu¬ 
ally, however, that Spike seemed quite unsuspicious 
of any intention in the matter. 

“Waal, spit it out,” he growled when he had 
poured himself a drink, his coarsely handsome face 
still sullen and suspicious. “Zeek says there was a 
gal an’ an old man with him. Is that so?” 

Asher nodded. “They stopped in front of Tim¬ 
mons’ store about half-past eight and all three of ’em 
went in. The girl wasn’t bad looking. The old 


“ Bad lookin’! ” interjected Mogridge. “ I’ll say 
she ain’t! Great Godfrey! An’ I thought you was 
a judge of wimmin. She’s—” Abruptly his lips 
clamped shut. “ Waal, what next? ” he went on more 
quietly. “ They went in to Timmons’, yuh say. What 
was you doin’ all the time?” 

“Watching them from this window,” returned 
161 



162 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Asher composedly. “ When Moran and the old fel¬ 
lah came out with a lot of stuff, I strolled around 
through the bar and later out into the street. I was 
just in time to be introduced. The lady’s name is — 
er—Rives; the old man seems to be her father.” 

Spike drew a long breath. “ I guessed that much,” 
he said curtly. “So the skunk’s wormed in there, 
has he?” His eyes glowed with anger and he emp¬ 
tied his tumbler at a gulp. “What kind of a story 
did he tell? Or didn’t yuh ask him?” he added with 
a sneer. 

Under the lash of his contemptuous tongue, Asher’s 
expression did not alter. Perhaps there was the 
faintest tightening of the thin lips, a touch of added 
hardness in the cold eyes, though the shadow lying 
across his face made it difficult to be certain. But 
if Mogridge could have guessed what was passing 
behind that hawklike, immobile mask, even he would 
have given pause. 

“ Naturally,” purred Asher smoothly. “ I took 
him to one side and we had quite a talk. He told me 
you an’ he had split, and he was headin’ west.” Rest¬ 
ing one elbow on the table, he shaded his eyes with 
a long, thin hand. “ In some way he fell in with this 
man Rives,” he went on with slow deliberation, “ who, 
it seems, is interested in hunting — gold.” 

He paused, acutely aware of Mogridge’s slight 
start and the sudden avaricious light which gleamed 
momentarily in the man’s black eyes. 



The Spider Spins a Web 


163 


“Gold? Huh! ” grunted Spike, controlling him¬ 
self with an evident effort “Waal, go on. What’s 
Moran got to do with it?” 

“ He said he’d hired himself out to Rives, who 
don’t know much about prospecting, to show him 
some likely places,” rejoined Asher smoothly. “ Told 
me they were going to take a look through the Thun¬ 
der Creek country.” 

Mogridge’s jaw sagged as an expression of utter 
blankness overspread his face. “Thunder Creek!” 
he ejaculated. “What the devil— Why, that 
ain’t— Hells bells! It’s a blind, o’ course. He 
wasn’t goin’ that way a-tall. An’ yuh let him ride off 
without liftin’ a finger, I s’pose. Gawd, but some 
folks are thick! ” 

A faint touch of color crept slowly into Asher’s 
pallid, wrinkled face. “ Not quite as bad as that, 
Spike,” he retorted quietly. “ His story was all right, 
in some ways, and at the time I hadn’t any reason for 
suspicions. Still, I was a little curious to see if he 
really was heading for Thunder Creek, and if so what 
he might find there. So I — er — sent McCoy after 
them.” 

“Ah! Well?” 

“ Unfortunately he boggled it to some extent. He 
got back only this afternoon. I’d just finished giving 
him a piece of my mind when you showed up.” 

As he slowly narrated the steps McCoy had taken, 
his keen, cold eyes, almost invisible under indolently 



164 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


drooping lids, noted the slightest, most delicate shade 
of expression rippling across Spike’s face. Deliber¬ 
ately, with not a little inward scorn, he played upon 
the man’s emotions, finding some slight retaliatory 
satisfaction in lifting Mogridge’s hopes only to dash 
them callously again. And then, having eased his 
mind of some small portion of its venom, he set him¬ 
self to finding out just what it was Spike was holding 
back. 

Not his infatuation for Shirley Rives; that became 
only too swiftly and plainly evident. No; it was 
something else, something having to do, apparently, 
with the objective of the three wanderers. Though 
Spike proved uncommonly stubborn when it came to 
giving out definite information, Asher presently 
reached the conclusion that the movements of Moran 
and Colonel Rives were not in the least aimless, but 
directed toward a very definite end. Instead of 
starting forth on a general prospecting trip, they 
were — or Spike thoroughly believed them to be — 
heading for a location that had already panned out. 
A rich one, too, if Asher could judge from Mo¬ 
gridge’s almost feverish eagerness to locate the van¬ 
ished men. 

“We gotta down that skunk if it takes six months,” 
Spike finally declared emphatically. “ He knows too 
much, Orms. Why, if he wanted to he could raise a 
stink that might even run us outa the county.” 

“ You, perhaps,” corrected Asher drily. “ Person- 



The Spider Spins a Web 


165 


ally, I’m not worryin’ a whole lot about myself.” 

“Alla same, he could make things mighty un¬ 
pleasant,” persisted Spike with a fine show of energy. 
“ I reckon it’s up to me an’ Monk an’ Squint to start 
off tomorrow an’ comb them mountains ’till we find 
him.” 

He reached forward and poured himself another 
drink. The diamond on Asher’s finger sparkled as 
his hand dropped gently to the table top. 

“ I can tell you a better way than that,” he re¬ 
marked quietly. 

“What?” 

“ Get him through the girl.” 

“The girl? How in— What d’yuh mean?” 

Asher leaned forward slightly. “Suppose she — 
a — disappeared,” he said in a lowered voice. “The 
minute word was brought to ’em, wouldn’t Moran an’ 
old Rives come hot-footin’ back to find out what’s 
happened to her?” 

Mogridge hesitated an instant. “ Likely they 
would,” he admitted slowly. “But how— Who’s 
gonna send word to ’em?” 

“ Mrs. Haight. She must know where they’ve 
gone. There’s nothing hard about the thing. Foss 
says the two girls ride around alone together. All 
we’d have to do would be to keep a close watch on 
the valley and nab ’em when we get a chance. There’s 
an old abandoned line camp on my ranch-” 

“We!” cut in Spike sharply. “What’s the idea 




166 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


o’ yore hornin’ in, Orms? I thought yuh wasn’t wor- 
ryin’ none about Moran.” 

“ I’m not. You can have him and welcome — 
likewise this — er—Rives girl. I’m interested—” 
Asher smiled a slow, feline smile — “in Nell Dris¬ 
coll. I had her about where I wanted her when she 
up an’ cut away.” 

“ O—h! ” An expression of understanding and re¬ 
lief overspread Mogridge’s heavy countenance. “ So 
that’s how it is, is it? Hanged if there ain’t some¬ 
thin’ in that bean o’ yores, after all!” He laughed 
boisterously and took a long drink. “We’ll start in 
the mornin’—huh? What’s yore idea? Yuh 
cornin’ with us?” 

“ I wasn’t planning to,” returned Asher. “ I’ve 
got some things to see to here. I’ll send McCoy and 
a couple of other men who’ll be under your orders. 
When you’ve turned the trick you can send me w r ord. 
That line camp o’ mine ’ll make a fine place to keep 
the women — retired, you know, an’ yet not too far 
out of the way.” 

Again that expression of relief rippled across 
Mogridge’s flushed face. Asher, accurately reading 
the other’s mind, smiled inwardly. 

Ten minutes later, as he stood alone facing the 
closed door, the smile materialized into a vivid, 
wicked sneer that curled the corners of his lips and 
glinted evilly in his hard eyes. Reviewing swiftly 
the details of the interview, his satisfaction grew. 



The Spider Spins a Web 


167 


Brainless clod that he was, Mogridge would undoubt¬ 
edly pull the chestnuts out of the fire for Asher to 
enjoy. To be sure there was bound to be a bitter 
awakening later for Spike, but Asher had already 
coldly planned for that. 

“ Now for a little talk with Foss to give him his 
instructions,” he reflected. “ I can see Callahan at the 
ranch tomorrow. A bunch of men strung along the 
hills at likely points south of Bar S can’t help but spot 
those two when they come out and trace back to 
where they started from.” 

His face grew keen and thoughtful and he 
drummed absently on the bare table with long, thin 
fingers. 

“ I wonder what sort of a strike they’ve made back 
there in the hills?” he pondered. “Spike wonders, 
too.” He laughed softly; it was not a pleasant sound. 
“ I must take care to remember that.” 



CHAPTER XXV 

LOST SQUAW MINE 


T UCKED snugly amidst a wilderness of rugged 
cliffs, of forest-covered slopes, slit bewilderingly 
by endless canons, draws and deep, bare gorges, a nar¬ 
row, treeless gulch blazed in the stifling heat of early 
afternoon. Insignificant it was in every way, and so 
hemmed in by natural bulwarks that the desert wan¬ 
derer might easily pass within a hundred yards and 
still have no suspicion of its existence. 

At one time a stream had evidently flowed along 
the bottom of the gulch — a stream which, in the 
thawing spring especially, must have boiled and bub¬ 
bled over its course with unusual force and volume. 
There were holes and pockets at intervals and beds 
of fine, pounded sand, and throughout the entire 
length of that scanty two-mile stretch the rocks and 
pebbles were worn smooth by ages of persistent fric¬ 
tion. 

That, however, was long ago — how long only a 
skilled geologist could tell. At some remote period 
nature had stirred, flinging up solid barriers of rock 
at both ends of the little gulch, turning the stream to 
other courses, raising, at the same time, no doubt, 
that curiously regular, cone-shaped peak which tow¬ 
ered like a sentinel above the northern extremity. 

It was that peak alone which had preserved this 
168 


Lost Squaw Mine 


169 


insignificant scratch on nature’s bosom. Doubled by 
the delirium of the lost Sioux squaw, who, twenty odd 
years ago had plucked from the sands of that dead 
river a scant handful of golden nuggets, it had be¬ 
come a byword through the country. 

Mine it was not, in any ordinary meaning of the 
word. The gold, washed down from some distant, 
unknown source, had lodged in holes and pockets 
along the two-mile course, exposed for the most part 
to the light of day. Nor was there here a tithe of the 
fabulous wealth with which rumor had clothed the 
legend. Moran and Colonel Rives had already dis¬ 
covered this to their sorrow. 

For over three weeks the two had toiled and 
sweated in this stifling, shut-in place with pick and 
shovel and pan and primitive rocker, and already its 
possibilities were beginning to be exhausted. To be 
sure during the first week the takings had been enor¬ 
mous. By simply following the bed of the old stream 
and poking about in holes and pockets, they had gath¬ 
ered in nuggets of varying sizes that weighed upwards 
of fifteen hundred ounces. Laborious panning of 
the sand, with water carried from a distance, added 
nearly another five hundred to the hoard. But each 
day the findings had been less — very much less in¬ 
deed after the likely places had been exhausted. 

“ Looks like in a coupla days more we’d jest about 
be pannin’ out our keep,” remarked Moran, sitting 
back on his heels and drawing a shirt sleeve across 



170 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


his dripping forehead. 

The colonel nodded wearily. “ I’m afraid so. 
Very little seems to have lodged in the sand. I sup¬ 
pose the force of the stream carried off the dust and 
small gold flakes, and only the heavier pieces stuck 
in rocky pockets. Is the water all used up?” 

“Yeah. I s’pose I better pack another load.” 
With a grunt, Moran heaved to his feet, but could not 
seem to bring himself to start at once on that toil¬ 
some trip back to the spring. “Unless,” he added 
hopefully, “yuh want to call it a day.” 

Colonel Rives’ sunken eyes brightened for an in¬ 
stant. Then his long, thin, almost haggard looking 
face took on a conscience-stricken expression. 

“I — I suppose we ought to keep at it,” he said 
dubiously. “ I must confess I should enjoy a rest, 
but-” 

“Why not take it, then? Gawd knows we’ve 
earned a whole flock of ’em. An’ when yuh get down 
to cases, I ain’t so shore but what we’re wastin’ our 
time stickin’ here any longer. We ain’t panned out 
three ounces since sunup. That shore ain’t worth 
wearin’ ourselves down to a whisper for.” 

The colonel stood up slowly, with a wince or two 
that told of stiffened muscles and general bodily 
weariness. He was thinner, gaunter than ever and 
there were hollows in his wrinkled cheeks that 
brought a look of swift, veiled solicitude into Moran’s 
eyes. 




Lost Squaw Mine 


171 


He himself had, as he expressed it, thinned down 
considerably during these three weeks of drudgery 
under the intolerably blazing sun, and he knew how 
much less fitted the older man was to cope with such 
hard labor. To be sure he had done his best to spare 
the colonel in every way possible, but the latter was 
a difficult person to coddle. Watching him now, Dan 
had an uneasy suspicion that he was very nearly at 
the end of his rope. 

“ Perhaps not,” returned the colonel, wiping his 
forehead. “ But how do we know that at any mo¬ 
ment we may dig into something rich? ” 

“We haven’t so far,” Dan pointed out. “Like I 
said this mornin’, ever since we skimmed the cream 
that first coupla weeks the dust’s been steadily peterin’ 
out. It would take us a year or more to pan all the 
sand like we’re doin’ an’ in the end we might be a 
coupla hundred ounces to the good. In my opinion 
it ain’t worth it. However, we don’t have to make 
up our minds right off. Let’s go back to camp an’ 
when we’re rested up we can chin over this some 
more.” 

Without waiting for the colonel’s acquiescence, 
Moran picked up the two buckets and climbed the 
slope to where a tethered buckskin stood under the 
scanty shade of a twisted shrub cedar. 

“Hot, boy?” he muttered, slinging the buckets, 
which were tied together by a length of rope, across 
the horse’s back. “An’ thirsty? I’ll tell a man! 



172 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Well, mebbe we’ll drag it soon back to where they’s 
plenty grass an’ water an’—people. You’ll like that, 
eh? So’ll I.” 

Leading the horse, he rejoined the colonel, and 
together they walked slowly along the bottom of 
the gulch toward its single outlet, a narrow opening 
masked on the farther side by a thick clump of mes- 
quite. Both of the men were too hot to talk, but 
more than once Dan glanced solicitously at his ex¬ 
hausted companion and cursed himself for not hav¬ 
ing forced the situation sooner. Three weeks of 
close relationship had brought about a much better 
understanding of this courtly, intrepid, slightly erratic 
product of the South. Even had he not possessed 
the distinction of being Shirley’s father, Moran felt 
that he w T ould have liked him. He foresaw diffi¬ 
culties in bending the colonel to his will, but he meant 
to do it somehow. 

Pushing through the mesquite they emerged into 
a narrow canon hedged in by high, sheer cliffs. It 
lay approximately northeast, and about a quarter of 
a mile to the eastward a small tent pitched in the 
shade of some jack pines. A small spring bubbled up 
in the rocks not far to one side, the twisting course 
of its overflow outlined within a thin penciling of 
green. Farther along the canon two hobbled horses, 
a big, rangy bay and a shapely cream, grazed on the 
scanty herbage. 

Both men made straight for the spring and drank 



Lost Squaw Mine 


173 


long and deep. The buckskin also lost no time plung¬ 
ing his nozzle into the clear water. When he had 
finished, Dan hobbled him and joined the colonel, 
who was sitting in the shade of the jack pines fanning 
himself with a disreputable hat. For a time neither 
of them spoke. Then the older man drew from his 
pocket a limp buckskin bag, grimy with much han¬ 
dling, which contained the day’s meager takings. 

“ I reckon we’d better put it with the rest,” he re¬ 
marked. 

Dan nodded, and taking it from him, made his 
way over to the foot of the cliffs where fallen stones 
and rubble were piled in chaotic heaps. Pausing at a 
certain spot, he lifted a heavy slab and disclosed a 
hidden hollow underneath containing two bulging 
canvas bags stoutly made of double thickness. Set¬ 
ting aside the slabs, he squatted on his heels and 
opening the nearest sack, emptied into it the contents 
of the little bag. A shadow falling across the hole 
made him glance up swiftly to find the colonel stand¬ 
ing beside him. 

“After all, it’s a very tidy bit,” mused the older 
man. 

“ I’ll say so! ” agreed Moran. “ There’s over two 
thousand ounces in them two bags.” 

“ Thirty thousand dollars and more,” commented 
the colonel thoughtfully. “ I’m afraid I must seem 
very greedy,” he went on in an apologetic tone. “ It 
isn’t altogether that, though. There’s a sort of fas- 



174 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


cination about it that rather gets into the blood. One 
never knows when-■” 

“ I get yuh,” nodded Moran as he paused. “ I’ve 
felt that way myself, of’en, ’specially the first coupla 
weeks. When a turn o’ the shovel may open up three, 
four hundred dollars at a clip, a fellah jest can’t 
leave off. But I’m afraid that sorta thing’s over for 
us now.” 

Colonel Rives nodded. “ I expect you’re right, 
Dan. I’ve been thinking it over and it seems to me 
we ought to put what we’ve got into a safe place with¬ 
out any more delay. I don’t suppose there’s much 
chance of anyone stumbling in here, but one never 
knows. Afterward we could come back, of course, 
if it seemed worth while. Another thing, there’s — 
Shirley. Likely enough she’ll begin to fret and worry 
if we stay away too long.” 

Moran’s eyes brightened. “Yo’re willin’ for us 
to drag it, then?” he questioned eagerly. “Great 
stuff!” He tied the mouth of the canvas sack with 
a jerk and replaced the flat stone. “We can get 
ready tonight an’ start first thing in the mornin’. 
Oughta hit the Bar S by dinnertime, anyhow.” 

Fatigue and heat forgotten, he at once set about 
briskly preparing for departure. He, too, had been 
thinking about Shirley. As a matter of fact her 
image was rarely absent from his mind. At night, 
particularly, when the day’s grubbing was over and 
he had spread his long length on the sloping bed of 




Lost Squaw Mine 


175 


pine needles, he could almost see her face looking at 
him through the starlit shadows, or across the glow 
of the blazing campfire. 

Always that mental picture was lovely in contour 
and expression. The sweet, sensitive mouth was al¬ 
ways half smiling the warm, vivid eyes regarded him 
with the level, straightforward gaze of perfect 
friendliness. Now and then his longing read wist¬ 
fully into that glance a touch of something deeper, 
but as the fire died and he came back to stern reality, 
the conviction usually stole over him that it was his 
imagination alone that had placed it there. 

Tonight as he lay wide-eyed and restless, his mind 
keenly active in spite of bodily weariness, the old, 
troubled questioning reiterated through his brain 
with more than usual persistency. Did she really 
care a little? Was it possible that she could? Tomor¬ 
row he would see her face to face. What if he took 
his courage in both hands and put the question? 
Sometimes anything seemed preferable to this harass¬ 
ing doubt. And yet again, as long as he remained 
uncertain he could at least hope. Still undecided, he 
fell asleep at last to dream that he was holding her 
in his arms. So vivid was the vision that he could 
feel the caress of her crisp hair across his face, the 
warm touch of her responsive lips, the flutter of her 
heart against his own. When he awoke to find the 
stars paling before the creeping gray of dawn, his 
hesitation had vanished. 




CHAPTER XXVI 

THE AMBUSH 

R ISING above the jagged eastern skyline the sun 
saw Moran and his companion crossing a wide 
mesa close to the base of sheer, frowning granite 
cliffs. Back of them the cone-shaped peak, bathed 
in the rosy glow of dawn, stood out against the 
darker background like a mass of pale pink onyx. It 
did not look ten miles away, but they had made such 
an excellent start that it was all of that and more. 
Indeed, only a few hundred yards ahead loomed the 
mouth of the narrow, winding gorge through which 
they had descended from the southern side of the 
Rattlesnake range. 

A night’s rest, coupled with the knowledge that 
the toilsome labor of the past three weeks was over, 
had done wonders for Colonel Rives. No doubt, 
also, the thought of their success contributed not a 
little to his excellent spirits. After years of grubbing 
a bare living from the earth, the pleasing weight of a 
thousand precious ounces distributed about one’s 
clothes and saddle would be enough to bring sunshine 
to the heart of the most confirmed pessimist; and 
the colonel, though somewhat seriously inclined, was 
far from that. 

He was riding Bob, Moran’s shapely cream, who 
was the steadiest and most dependable of the three 
176 


The Ambush 


177 


horses. Dan bestrode the rangy bay and led the 
buckskin, on whose unwilling back their belongings 
were packed. Apparently the animal had made up 
his mind that he had been a pack-horse quite long 
enough, and his behavior from the very beginning 
had been the one flaw in an otherwise auspicious start. 
But even that could not greatly affect Dan’s exuberant 
spirits. 

“You Ranger hawss!” he admonished, after a 
sharp and heated struggle to force the animal to enter 
the gorge. “ One more o’ them brainstorms, an’ I’m 
likely to get real peevish with yuh. At that, I 
dunno’s yuh can blame him a whole lot,” he added. 
“All his young life he’s carried nothin’ but a saddle 
before.” 

“ I suppose I should have ridden him instead of 
Bob,” remarked the colonel. “ If he has these 
tantrums often he’s going to hold us up considerably.” 

“He won’t,” declared Moran firmly. “Bob’s 
done more’n his share o’ the dirty work, an’ it’s time 
he laid off it. Come on, yuh wall-eyed old horntoad, 
an’ quit yore foolishness.” 

Range “came on,” though grudgingly, with much 
laying back of the ears and a display of general 
cussedness. Reluctant to enter the gorge, he seemed 
equally against quitting it, and when he was finally 
dragged out onto the wide ledge that thrust forth 
from the side of the mountain, Moran halted to mop 
his face and addressed the stubborn animal in forceful 



178 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


terms of withering contempt. 

The ledge curved around the broad base of an 
outthrust spur and from one point, through a gap 
in the lower hills, was presented a sweeping view over 
low flats and rough, rock-strewn plains amidst which a 
glint of twisting silver showed the winding course of 
the Moon River. Somewhere in that wide, chaotic 
wilderness, bounded on the farther side by the hazy 
blue of distant mountains, lay Saddle Butte, the head¬ 
quarters of Spike Mogridge and his band of cattle 
thieves and outlaws. Moran gave it no more than a 
casual glance. That part of his life, he told himself 
with a feeling of extreme satisfaction, was as dead as 
last year’s tumbleweeds — so dead, indeed, that he 
could look upon the scene of more than one 
questionable exploit without even a touch of 
heightening color. 

A period of deceptive docility on the part of the 
buckskin enabled them to push on along the ledge with 
fair rapidity. They had even made fair progress 
along the twisting intricacies of the mountain way 
before the horse began to act up again. From that 
time on, however, his outbursts of stubborn protest 
were so frequent and so prolonged that Moran com¬ 
pletely lost his temper and at intervals seriously 
considered dropping the lead rope and letting the 
beast work out his own salvation. 

That move, however, could scarcely be seriously 
entertained. The loss of their belongings, though 



The Ambush 


179 


annoying, would be a matter of no great moment, 
but considering the rough, often hazardous nature of 
their route, the presence of a spare mount was of 
vital importance. The gold had been equally divided 
between the two men, and if either the bay or the 
cream should be disabled they would be in an 
exceedingly difficult plight. 

So Moran was obliged to make the best of the 
situation and by dint of alternating persuasion and 
force he managed to keep the obstreperous animal 
moving. But the effect on his temper was not improv¬ 
ing, and when at length — very much delayed — they 
reached the level floor of a shallow canon not more 
than two miles from the head of the slope leading 
down into Bar S valley, he gave a deep sigh of 
fervent relief. 

The sides of the canon, which was no more than 
a scant half mile in length, were grown up in spruce. 
With the colonel in the lead they had made about 
half that distance when without the slightest provoca¬ 
tion the buckskin planted his forefeet stubbornly and 
dragged back on the lead rope. 

“Yuh big hunk o’ misery!” flamed Moran pas¬ 
sionately, twisting in the saddle. “ Hells bells! If I 
don’t-” 

Crack! Cra — ack! Two sharp reports shattered 
the placid noonday stillness of the canon. A bullet 
whined past Moran’s head so close that it seemed 
actually to stir the hair that crisped above his ear. 




180 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


He saw the colonel reel in his saddle and at the same 
instant noted the curling wisps of smoke eddy out 
of the spruce on the slope to his left. 

Like a flash he dropped the lead rope, dug spurs 
into the bay and, jerking out his gun, began pumping 
lead into the trees that masked the ambush. 

“ Keep a-boilin’! ” he yelled to the colonel, bend¬ 
ing low over the bay’s neck. “ Get around that rock 
ahead an’ under cover.” 

Two more bits of lead pinged across his bent back. 
He answered them with the last shot in his Colt, and 
jabbing this back into the holster, whirled around a 
massive, outthrust buttress and swept alongside 
Colonel Rives. 

“ Keep goin’ if yuh can! ” he urged. “ Where yuh 
hit?” 

The colonel’s left arm hung limply; already a 
spreading blot of crimson stained his shirt. His face 
was ashen, but his lips pressed firmly together. 

“ Shoulder,” he answered briefly. 

“ Can yuh stick it out a while longer? ” 

The older man nodded. “ It’s not much farther, 
is it? ” he asked. “ I seem to remember-” 

“Not more’n two miles at most,” encouraged 
Dan. “We’ll make it all right an’ beat the 
scoundrels.” 

For perhaps ten minutes they clattered on in 
silence, Moran keeping an anxious eye on the tall, 
lean figure at his side, while he slipped fresh shells 




The Ambush 


181 


into his six shooter. Presently the canon twisted 
into a wide gulch that sloped down at a considerable 
angle. If only they could reach the end of this in 
safety, decided Dan, they would be reasonably secure. 

The thought had scarcely passed through his brain 
when from behind came the sound he had been wait¬ 
ing for — the thud of hoofs. His lips tightened and 
he glanced swiftly at the man beside him. 

“Could—” he began, but wasted no further 
words. 

The colonel had let fall his reins and was gripping 
the saddle horn with a force that brought out a row 
of white dots across his bony knuckles. Beads of 
sweat stood out on his white forehead; his thin body 
swayed perilously with every movement of the cream. 
Swiftly Dan forced the bay closer and was just in 
time to catch his friend as he slid sidewise. 

For a scant second he held the other upright with 
a firm grip about the body. Then, with a heave of 
powerful shoulders, he dragged the helpless man 
across the saddle in front of him, supporting him 
with his left arm. 

“I — I’m — sorry —” muttered the colonel faintly. 
“I— My head-” 

“ Don’t yuh worry none,” cut in Moran reassur¬ 
ingly. “We’ll make it all right.” 

But as he urged the bay forward, he wondered. 
Already the clatter of hoofs behind them sounded 
perilously close. At any moment the bunch of riders 




182 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


were likely to swing into the gulch, and hampered 
as he was, Dan fully realized how helpless he would 
be against them. As his glance swept ahead, gauging 
the length of that level, open slope, his eyes darkened 
and the muscles of his jaw and chin hardened. 

Then suddenly the remembrance of the gold 
packed into the colonel’s saddle pockets brought his 
head around swiftly. The sight of the riderless 
cream trotting close at his heels brought a momentary 
grim smile to Moran’s set lips. 

“Good old Bobby!” he muttered. “Lucky I 
didn’t trust to that longhorn buckskin.” He rowelled 
the bay gently. “Go to it, boy — yuh gotta. We’ll 
beat ’em yet, oP hawss.” 



CHAPTER XXVII 

TRAPPED 

S HIRLEY RIVES gave a low, rippling laugh and 
tucked back a flying strand of crisp brown hair. 
“Oh, but he is ! 11 she stated positively. “If you 
could see him look at you! It’s a case, if ever there 
was one.” 

Nell Driscoll flushed becomingly and striving in 
vain to hide her embarrassment under a casual man¬ 
ner, shrugged her slender shoulders. 

“ I don’t see how you can say that,” she protested. 
“ I never saw him before we came here, and that 
was only three weeks ago Monday.” 

“All the more credit to your charms, dear,” 
smiled Shirley. “ It isn’t every girl that can have a 
man— How is it the boys say it? Oh, yes; feed¬ 
ing out of your hand, in three weeks.” 

“ You’re talking nonsense,” retorted Nell, her flush 
deepening. “ He hangs around, of course, but that’s 
because— What about Windy Bogert?” she 
countered in sudden triumph. “ I never saw anybody 
quite so far gone in all my life.” 

“Oh — Windy! Goodness!” Shirley giggled. 
“ Isn’t he funny the way he sits on the edge of his 
chair and makes sheep’s eyes, and hardly ever says a 
word? Did you hear Mrs. Haight go for him on the 
porch yesterday? ‘ Yuh Windy! Do you think I’m 
183 


184 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


runnin’ one o’ these here rest cures for invalids? My 
land o’ love! About forty things hollerin’ to be done 
an’ yuh set there like yuh’d took root. Have I gotta 
take yuh by the ear an’ lead yuh to a job o’ work? ’ ” 

Her imitation of their hostess’ deep, throaty voice 
and forceful manner was excellent, and both girls 
went off into peals of laughter. Then Shirley was 
smitten with compunction. 

“ I expect I’m rather horrid,” she said contritely. 
“After all he’s awfully decent, even if he isn’t very 
thrilling. I only wish he’d live i^p to his name and 
have a little more to say. I get worn out trying to 
carry on a conversation. Last night— What are 
you stopping for?” 

Nell, who had reined in her horse beside a clump 
of pines, gave a slight shrug. 

“ It’s so rough and rocky farther on,” she re¬ 
turned, with a jerk of her head toward the narrowing 
end of Bar S valley. “ I suppose we might as well 
turn back.” 

Shirley straightened her hat slightly. “ I wish 
there was some other place to ride,” she commented. 
“ I believe we’ve worn a regular rut up and down 
the valley and it’s getting monotonous.” Her glance 
swept past the pines toward the foot of the little- 
used trail leading out of the valley and thence toward 
Hatchet and her eyes brightened. “Why shouldn’t 
we explore a little up there?” she suggested. 

Her companion looked dubious. “ Do you think 



T rapped 


185 


it would be — safe? Mrs. Haight told us not to 
leave the valley.” 

“ I know, and of course we shouldn’t go far. But 
we’ve been here for nearly a month. Surely if anyone 
had followed us from Hatchet we’d have known of it 
by this time, don’t you think?” 

“I suppose so,” returned Nell slowly, her expres¬ 
sion still doubtful. “Still, of course, we can’t really 
be sure, and I-” 

She paused, and bending sidewise in her saddle 
stared back in the direction of the ranch house. 
Shirley, whose horse faced the other way, caught the 
expression of sudden interest in her friend’s eyes. 

“Who is it?” she asked, turning in her saddle. 
“Oh! One of the boys. I wonder which?” 

Nell did not answer at once and the two girls, 
withdrawing still farther into the shelter of the pines, 
peered through the interlacing branches at the soli¬ 
tary rider, still a long ways off, who loped toward 
them. Suddenly Nell gave a subdued little scream of 
mirth. 

“It’s Windy!” she giggled. “I know him from 
that yellow horse he rides.” 

“ Goodness! ” ejaculated Shirley, glancing hastily 
around. “He’ll ride back with us and we’ll have to 
make talk the entire way. There isn’t a place to 
hide, unless—” Her lips straightened firmly. “ I’m 
going up the trail,” she went on hurriedly, touching 
her horse with one heel. “ Only a little way,” she 




186 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


added over her shoulder. “The woods are thick up 
there, and he’ll never guess we’ve left the valley.” 

Nell hesitated an instant and then pushed after 
her. As they mounted the rough, sloping track the 
pine grove hid them from the approaching rider, 
and the moment they had surmounted the rim, a 
heavy growth of timber on both sides of the trail 
continued the concealment. Shirley rode on a few 
hundred yards and then glanced back at her 
companion. 

“ Youdon’t suppose he’d come this far ? ” she asked. 

“Not unless he saw us,” returned Nell. “Or 
unless— Gracious! I never thought of that. Per¬ 
haps he’s going to Hatchet.” 

The possibility threw both girls into a mild, partly 
amused sort of panic, and finding a spot where the 
woods were open enough, they turned the horses off 
the trail and rode in among the trees. 

“It’s too ridiculous!” whispered Shirley, when at 
last they came to a halt in a tiny clearing behind 
which a mass of boulders rose among the pines. “ I 
do hope he passes on. We’d feel so silly to have him 
find us running away from him and hiding like two 
kids.” 

Nell nodded, and in silence the two girls sat there 
listening intently. Presently, and much sooner than 
either had expected, they heard the beat of hoofs out 
on the trail and exchanged swift glances. When the 
sharp clatter changed abruptly to a deadened thud, 



T rapped 


187 


Shirley realized that they were caught and made a 
wry face. 

“Darn!” she breathed vexatiously. “Well, we 
can’t help it. I’m not going to run any farther. 
We’ll have to make believe we came up here just for 
a lark.” 

Nell acquiesced, and both prepared to meet with 
bland innocence and surprise the appearance of the 
pertinacious Windy. Already through the trees they 
could make out a slight sense of movement, but owing 
to the heavy, drooping branches of the pines that 
clustered round their retreat it was impossible to see 
more than a few yards with any degree of definiteness. 

Swiftly the thud of hoofs drew nearer. To Shirley 
they seemed curiously multiplied, and she wondered 
a little at Bogert’s recklessness in dashing through 
the woods at such a speed. Nevertheless her tran¬ 
quillity was undisturbed as she sat composedly wait¬ 
ing, lips parted in a little preparatory smile of sur¬ 
prise, brows realistically arched. 

Abruptly the pine boughs were thrust aside and a 
mounted horse plunged into the little glade, to halt 
with a jerk and a slithering of hoofs on the slippery 
pine needles. 

The smile frozen on her lips, Shirley stared at the 
newcomer in dumb horror. For the horse was not a 
yellow buckskin at all. The rider was not Bogert, 
but — Spike Mogridge! And peering over his 
shoulder she recognized the face of Monk Henger. 



CHAPTER XXVIII 


CARRIED AWAY 


S HIRLEY never knew how long she sat there 
petrified — just staring in frozen horror at the 
creature she feared and hated more than anyone on 
earth, and whom she had hoped and believed never 
to see again. For a brief space, indeed, it seemed 
as if this thing simply couldn’t be true, as if she were 
in the grip of some ghastly nightmare and must pres¬ 
ently awake. Then Mogridge smiled, a slow, hateful, 
triumphant smile, and in a flash the girl came to 
herself, dug spurs into her horse’s flanks and lashed 
him with her quirt. 

The sudden unexpectedness of the move took 
Mogridge by surprise, and for an instant it almost 
seemed as if the girl’s mad effort to escape would 
be successful. But as the startled roan leaped for¬ 
ward, his hoofs slipped on the treacherous pine 
needles, and in spite of Shirley’s frantic sawing on the 
bit, he swerved close enough for the outlaw to reach 
out and grasp the reins. Wild with terror, the girl 
flung herself out of the saddle and ran. 

Blindly she plunged through the sweeping pine 
branches, pursued by oaths and sharp, furious com¬ 
mands which only spurred her on. Wildly she flew 
down the gentle slope toward the trail, the thought 
of the derided Windy Bogert looming large in her 
188 


Carried Away 


189 


distraught mind. By this time he must have climbed 
to the rim of the valley. If only she could reach the 
open. 

Back of her the thud of hoofs told of swift pursuit, 
but still she sped on determinedly. Slipping, sliding, 
her face tingling from the sharp buffets of the pine 
boughs, she ran as she had never run before — save 
only once! The memory of that other mad dash 
sent a rush of deep crimson into her pale face and 
made her, perhaps, a little heedless of what lay ahead. 
She saw only that the trees were thinning, and though 
she was well to one side of the opening by which they 
had entered the wood, she felt that the trail must be 
close at hand. A moment or two later she ducked 
under a sweeping branch and plunged breathlessly 
out onto the trail, almost into the arms of one of 
three strangers, who, with their horses, completely 
blocked the narrow way. 

Instantly the nearest fellow laid hold of her. 
“ Why the rush, kiddo ? ” he drawled. “ Yuh’ll wear 
yoreself all out chasin’ around like this. Better wait 
up a coupla minutes an’ get yore breath.” 

His face was lean and narrow and shadowed by 
a thatch of brick-red hair. A long scar, slanting 
downward from one corner of his mouth, lent to it a 
sinister expression which turned Shirley’s heart to 
lead. Nevertheless she strove desperately to tear 
herself from his grasp. 

“ Let me go ! ” she panted. 41 How dare you-” 




190 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Abruptly she broke off as her glance, sweeping 
over the man’s horse, fell upon the head of a yellow 
horse just coming into sight around a sharp bend in 
the trail a hundred yards or so away. 

“ Windy! ” she screamed instantly. “ Oh, Windy! 
Help-” 

A hand roughly clapped against her mouth 
smothered the frantic appeal. But over the edge of 
the man’s palm, calloused and none too clean, her 
eyes grew round with helpless horror. As if rowelled 
with a spur, the yellow horse leaped forward bringing 
Bogert abruptly into view, his hastily drawn six-gun 
rising swiftly from its holster. But he was not quite 
quick enough. 

One of the trio had already drawn, and an instant 
before the cowman’s gun spit fire, a spurt of flame 
burst from the outlaw’s Colt. 

Shirley heard the whine of a bullet overhead, saw 
Windy reel, fling up one arm and topple forward 
across the horse’s neck. What she missed was the 
sorrel’s swift, clattering turn and galloping retreat. 
For at this final, culminating horror something 
seemed to snap inside her brain, and with a smothered 
little moan she sagged limply back against the man 
who held her. 

She came to herself to find her head resting in 
Nell’s lap with the reassuring touch of Nell’s hands 
chafing her limp fingers. Mogridge and Henger had 
joined the group. Shirley could hear the former 




Carried Away 


191 


haranguing someone in a harsh, angry voice, but she 
did not try to understand what he was saying. With 
a shiver her glance sought her friend’s pale face and 
her eyes filled with sudden tears. 

“Oh, Nell!” she whispered brokenly. “Windy. 
. . . . They shot him! He-” 

She broke off, biting her lips. Nell’s own mouth 
quivered and her fingers closed tightly over Shirley’s 
for an instant, but she did not speak. A moment 
later Mogridge moved forward and stood looking 
down on them. 

“Cornin’ around, eh?” he commented. “About 
time, I’ll say. We gotta drag it outa here pronto. 
Gimme yore hand.” 

But Shirley did nothing of the sort. Ignoring his 
outstretched hand, she managed with Nell’s help to 
scramble to her feet. Save for a slight buzzing in 
her ears and a vast, encompassing lassitude, she felt 
little the worse for her fainting spell. For an instant 
she stood motionless, hat gone, hair waving in dis¬ 
order about her pale, accusing face. The glance she 
bent on Mogridge was full of utter loathing. 

“You beast!” she said, in a low penetrating voice 
that quivered a little with the emotion that was rend¬ 
ing her. “ I don’t know why such men as you are 
allowed to live! If I had only let him — kill you! ” 

For an instant she thought that she had penetrated 
his supreme and callous self-conceit. His brow dark¬ 
ened, and into the bold, black eyes there flashed the 




192 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


momentary shadow of a look which in another man 
she might have thought was pain! But it vanished 
before she could make quite sure, and his full lips 
curled in an irritating grin. 

“Yeah?” he drawled. “Feelin’ kinda ribbed up, 
ain’t yuh? I alius did like a gal with pep. Waal, get 
aboard yore hawss, unless—” he added, noting the 
rebellion in her eyes — “yuh’d rather I’d carry yuh 
in front o’ me.” 

Without a word Shirley snatched her hat from 
Nell and put it on with hands that shook a little. 
Her roan stood near, the bridle held by one of the 
other outlaws. Lips tightly compressed, Shirley 
walked quickly over to him, turned the stirrup and 
swung herself into the saddle. 

“Nice an’ doc-ile, all of a sudden, ain’t she?” 
remarked Mogridge with a wink at the red-haired 
man. “Little speed,” he added to Nell. “We ain’t 
got all day.” 

Nell took a step or two toward her mount and 
then turned a strained, white face on Mogridge. 

“Where are you taking us?” she demanded 
unsteadily. “What—what are you going to 
do-” 

“Yuh’ll know soon enough. Climb onto that 
hawss pronto unless yuh want to be throwed on.” 

With a shiver Nell obeyed; the men mounted and 
set off at once down the trail. Spurring up beside 
the roan, Mogridge took Shirley’s bridle from the 





Carried Away 


193 


dour-faced outlaw and proceeded to enliven the way 
with rough jokes and repeated attempts to draw the 
girl into conversation. 

His efforts were quite unsuccessful. Shirley kept 
her eyes set straight ahead and stubbornly refused to 
open her lips. She was governed partly by her in¬ 
tense loathing of the man, but chiefly because her 
mind was such a wild turmoil of conflicting emotions 
that she couldn’t trust herself to speak. 

The thought of Windy Bogert brought hot tears 
into her eyes and bitter self-reproach to her heart. 
She had called him to his death — she, who that little 
while before had been making fun of him! What a 
beast she was! And there was Nell, whose protests 
against leaving the valley she had so calmly over¬ 
ridden. She was responsible for the whole awful 
business, she told herself bitterly, and there were 
moments when she wished she could have died before 
this horror came upon them. 

Such moments grew more frequent as she rode on, 
heedless of the passing way, shutting her ears against 
that hateful voice beside her—drowned in misery. 
For hope, though proverbially hard to kill, was dying 
swiftly in her breast. 

The thought of her father and of Dan made her 
eyelids sting and turned her fairly sick with longing. 
Once Moran had come to her rescue in such a pass 
as this, but she knew only too well how utterly futile 
it was to even hope for such help now. Far back in 



194 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


the mountains, beyond the reach of any call, he was 
doubtless at this very moment hard at work in blissful 
ignorance of her plight. He might not return to the 
Bar S for weeks, and by the time he came- 

Shirley’s long lashes dropped to hide the swift, hot 
tears. When at length she had winked them away 
she was suddenly aware that they were passing the 
deserted Driscoll house. 

The discovery made her tingle. It couldn’t be 
possible that they were going into Hatchet. Reckless 
as he was, Mogridge would scarcely dare that much! 
She only hoped he would, for surely even in a place 
like that there must be some people decent enough 
to rise up against the perpetration of such a brazen, 
bare-faced outrage. 

Her crushed spirits insensibly reviving, Shirley 
began to think and plan. She would wait until they 
were well within the limits of the town. She remem¬ 
bered Dan’s saying that it was often crowded in the 
afternoon. Well and good. At the first sight of a 
group of men or women, even two or three would do, 
she would cry out to them for help. They might not 
at once escape from Mogridge’s clutches, but any 
situation would, she felt, be better than the present. 

Unfortunately her disillusionment was swift. Less 
than two miles beyond the Driscoll house Mogridge 
came to a sudden halt. Across the trail, which 
curved sharply a little way below and disappeared 
among the willows that grew thick along the stream, 




Carried Away 


195 


lay a broad seam of rock. It was very like the one 
they had made use of in quitting the Thunder Creek 
trail, save that off to the right it spread out and took 
substance, becoming in no great distance a noticeable 
ridge. This ridge curved southward toward the 
mountains, forming the western boundary of a broad 
expanse of rolling country, dotted here and there 
with outcroppings of rock or clumps of straggly trees, 
but for the most part fairly fertile. Shirley’s inquir¬ 
ing glance, sweeping over this more or less open land, 
had just detected moving objects which seemed to her 
like cattle, when she became aware that Mogridge 
was addressing the man with the scar. 

“Yuh know what to tell him, Foss. We’ll be at 
the shack in less’n an hour. He may wanta to come 
out tonight.” 

The fellow nodded and gathered up his reins. 
“ Likely he will,” he grunted as he spurred off along 
the trail. 

Mogridge watched him disappear around the bend 
and then, with Shirley’s reins still twisted around his 
hand, he turned his horse to the right and rode slowly 
along the rocky spur, the others following in single 
file. 

For a moment or two Shirley’s disappointment was 
so acute that she could think of nothing else. Then 
suddenly her mind flew back to Mrs. Haight and the 
Bar S cowmen. It was odd she hadn’t considered 
them before. Certainly they were not the sort to 



196 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


sit still and do nothing at such a pass. Quite the 
contrary. When she and Nell failed to appear for 
dinner there would be a search. They would come 
upon Windy. Shirley gulped, her heart torn, her 
remorse reviving at the thought of his supreme sacri¬ 
fice. His horse, returning riderless, was more than 
likely to start the men out sooner. To their practised 
eyes the outlaws’ tracks would be easy to follow — up 
to now. 

She noted the extreme care with which Mogridge 
was picking his way and glancing down, observed as 
she had expected, that the horses’ hoofs left no mark 
on the hard granite. How to leave a sign that they 
had left the trail? She thought for an instant of 
dragging the roan suddenly to one side, causing him 
to leave a scratch on the rock. But that, besides 
being certain to be noticed by the outlaws, might not 
be clear enough. Then suddenly she remembered the 
quirt dangling from her wrist. If only she could let 
it drop without their seeing her. 

From under drooping lashes she shot a swift, side 
glance at Mogridge. At the moment his face was 
turned away from her, his attention apparently ab¬ 
sorbed in the careful guiding of his horse. Heart flut¬ 
tering, Shirley gently loosed her grasp on the saddle 
horn and let her hand hang straight at her side. She 
felt the loop of the quirt slide down over her cuff, and 
compressing her hand a trifle, she gave it a scarcely 
perceptible shake. An instant later the dangling 



Carried Away 


197 


length of braided leather thongs slipped over her 
hand and was gone. 

For a second or two Shirley enjoyed her triumph. 
Then abruptly a rough voice in the rear dashed her 
hopes utterly and completely. 

“Hey! Wait a minute, Spike. The lady’s dropped 
her quirt.” 

Mogridge turned sharply. “Huh? Her quirt?” 
he said, and the girl, though she kept her gaze set 
straight ahead, was aware of his steady, penetrating 
scrutiny. “All right, Monk; bring it along.” 

Presently Henger rode forward and handed the 
quirt to Spike, who passed it over to Shirley, riding 
on his left. In taking it from him she was forced to 
lift her eyes. She knew that her face was crimson, 
and was not surprised at the mocking glance with 
which the man regarded her. 

“Yuh don’t wanta be so careless,” he told her 
meaningly. “Next time there mightn’t be anybody 
to pick it up.” 

Shirley made no answer. But as she slipped the 
leather loop over her wrist with shaking fingers, she 
bit her lips, and over her lovely face there swept 
again that dull, hopeless, tragic expression which 
made it almost haggard. 



CHAPTER XXIX 

THE FANGS OF THE SPIDER 

I T WAS toward the middle of the afternoon when 
the two girls dismounted wearily before a small 
log building showing unmistakable signs of desertion 
and decay. A small window covered by a crazy 
shutter pierced one of the end walls. The entrance, 
protected by a sagging door of rough planks, was 
the only opening in the longer eastern side. Back of 
the cabin were the remains of a shed or two and a 
disreputable corral. The outfit was set down in a 
sort of hollow grown up in spruce about half a mile 
below the ridge, and to Shirley it seemed as desolate 
a spot as she had ever seen. 

A man with a straggly brown beard greeted 
Mogridge heartily, and at Spike’s direction opened 
the door for the girls to enter. Shirley obeyed with¬ 
out protest. She felt limp and dragged out, and even 
the discovery that the interior had been freshly swept 
and was moderately clean failed to arouse her inter¬ 
est. She was only thankful when the door closed 
behind them and they were left alone. 

Silently the girls clutched each other. Both wept 
a little, but somehow the situation seemed beyond the 
solace of even tears. 

“There’s only one thing to be thankful for,” said 
Shirley at length, wiping her eyes. “You — 

198 


The Fangs of the Spider 


199 


They’ve made you come along just because you were 
with me. There’s no other reason.” 

She paused. Nell hesitated an instant, her face 
white and strained. “ I don’t know,” she said slowly. 
“Foss McCoy, the man who left us— You heard 
what Mogridge said — that he might want to come 
out tonight. McCoy is Asher’s man! ” 

Shirley’s eyes widened. “Oh! ” she cried despair¬ 
ingly. “ It — it can’t be that! He must have meant 

something else. Surely-” 

She broke off at the sound of horses’ hoofs and 
with one accord both girls darted over to the window. 
Monk Henger was loping away from the cabin 
toward the ridge. In silence they watched him mount 
the gentle slope and disappear among the straggling 
spruce. Then their glances met and dwelt together. 
It seemed such a little way to the edge of those dense 
thickets. Impulsively Shirley took another step for¬ 
ward and thrust her head cautiously out of the open 
window. She met the amused glance of the bearded 
man who leaned against the corner of the building, 
his fingers busy fashioning a cigarette. 

“ Fine day, ma’am,” he drawled, “ though mebbe 
a mite warm.” 

Shirley swiftly drew back her head and flashed a 
tragic glance at Nell. Save the door and a rude 
stone fireplace at the farther end, there was no other 
break in the monotonous log walls. 

“ We might have known they’d watch the window,” 




200 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


she said despairingly. “There’s nothing left to do 
but-” 

She broke off, and both turned swiftly toward the 
door which opened to reveal Mogridge standing on 
the threshold. For a moment he hesitated. Then 
he stepped into the room and closed the door behind 
him. As he approached them, Shirley shrank closer 
to her friend. 

“ I’d like a word with yuh,” the outlaw said briefly, 
as he stood in front of them. 

For a moment Shirley returned his glance shrink- 
ingly. Then something of the old spirit flamed into 
her troubled eyes. 

“ I can’t prevent your saying it,” she told him 
coldly. “ I’ve got to listen — unless I stop my ears.” 

Mogridge looked meaningly at Nell. “ I want to 
talk to her alone,” he said curtly. 

Shirley clutched her friend’s wrist. “ No! ” she 
cried. “Oh, no!” 

But Nell, sensible of a subtle change in the man, 
aware that nothing could be gained by angering him, 
gently disengaged her fingers. 

“ I’d better, dear,” she urged in a low tone. “ I’ll 
just go over by the fireplace.” 

Heart fluttering, Shirley watched her cross the 
room. Then, purposely avoiding Mogridge’s gaze, 
she turned her head and stared miserably at the 
stretch of sun-drenched green, topped by a sweep of 
brilliant sky that was visible through the small 




The Fangs of the Spider 


201 


window. Suddenly a hand caught her chin and 
twisted her face around. 

“Yo’re scart — plumb sick,” said Mogridge, his 
rough voice curiously softened. “ Can’t say I blame 
yuh much at that, with all yuh musta been thinkin’.” 
His hand fell to his side and he hesitated, a dull flush 
creeping into his tanned face. “ I jest wanted to ease 
yore mind a bit,” he finished awkwardly. 

Shirley looked at him in bewildered amaze. This 
was a side of his nature she had not only never seen, 
but which a moment ago she would have believed 
impossible. 

“I — I don’t understand,” she faltered. 

His flush deepened and one of his big hands 
clenched over the butt of his Colt. “I — I can’t get 
on without yuh,” he said, with an odd mingling of 
harshness and simplicity. “ Ever since I first seen yuh 
that mornin’ when yuh slammed the door in my face, 
I’ve thought of yuh — ’most all the time. I made a 
mistake once. I’d oughta have known yuh weren’t 
that kind. This time I’m gonna marry yuh.” 

Shirley took a step backward, her outstretched 
hands pressed against the rough bark of the logs 
behind her. She could not speak. She could only 
look at him horrorstricken, her whole tortured soul 
staring from her frightened eyes. 

“Yuh ain’t wild about the idea, I reckon,” pur¬ 
sued Mogridge. “Waal, mebbe not right now. But 
lemme tell^yuh, yuh might do a whole lot worse. I 



202 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


got a pretty decent bunch o’ kale soaked away. I’m 
willin’ to cut Saddle Butte an’ all that, an’ go off 
some’rs an’ start fresh. It wouldn’t take long to get 
used to me as-” 

“Oh, no — no!” wailed Shirley, her self-control 
vanishing before the ghastly mental picture that 
flashed through her mind. To marry this brute — 
this murderer! To turn those sweet, shy, secret girl¬ 
ish visions into a lifelong nightmare of pure horror! 
“I —couldn’t! I’d rather die.” 

Mogridge’s mood changed swiftly. “ Yuh couldn’t, 
eh?” he snapped, his face darkening. “That shows 
all yuh know. Yo’re gonna do it, y’understand? 
Monk’s gone to fetch the justice o’ the peace, so yuh 
got jest about three hours to get used to the notion.” 

“ But you can’t! No justice — nobody can force a 
person to — to-” 

“ Yuh don’t know Judge Cawley,” cut in Mogridge. 
“He’ll do anythin’ I or Orms Asher tell him, an’ 
that’s whatever.” He turned abruptly on his heel. 
“Think it over,” he flung back over one shoulder. 
“ Remember, I might change my mind again! ” 

As the door clattered shut behind him, Shirley 
slowly turned and stared hopelessly across the room 
at Nell. 

Something more than two hours later the two 
stood close together at the little window watching, 
with that same dull despair, the shadows creeping 





The Fangs of the Spider 


203 


across the shallow basin. As these lengthened 
swiftly, blotting out alike the jutting rocks and little 
hollows, turning the scraggly spruce trees into queer, 
distorted shapes, Shirley had a horrible feeling that 
just as swiftly the coils were tightening inexorably 
about them. Less than another hour would bring 
Judge Cawley, whom Nell had told her was one of 
Asher’s closest intimates and utterly unscrupulous. 
Asher himself might appear at any moment. And 
then- 

She gave a little shiver and her hand clenched over 
the window ledge. Throughout the dragging hours 
of waiting not a few heartbreaking thoughts and 
longings had swept through her mind, but always she 
had thrust that consideration from her. Yet ever it 
loomed just at the edge of consciousness like some 
grisly specter which must ultimately be faced. 

The sound of footfalls outside made both girls 
start and turn nervously toward the door. It was 
Mogridge who entered, and as he crossed in silence 
to the table and lit the lamp standing there, their 
glances followed him in tense speculation. Still with¬ 
out speaking he came over to the window and draw¬ 
ing in the shutter, made fast the catch. 

At his approach, Shirley shrank back a little. It 
was an instinctive movement, but now that he was 
close to her she noticed with a sudden sinking of the 
heart that his face was flushed and his eyes inflamed 
as if he had been drinking. 




204 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“ Waal? ” he said roughly, after a long, appraising 
stare that made her shiver. ‘‘Time’s passin’. Gettin’ 
any more used to the idea of matrimony?” 

She did not answer; she could not, somehow. Only 
her eyes — great, liquid pools in the haggard white¬ 
ness of her face — were eloquent. Too eloquent, per¬ 
haps. With a sudden snarl Mogridge reached out 
and, grasping her wrist, dragged her closer. 

“Ain’t yuh got no tongue?” he demanded harshly. 
“Mebbe yuh think I didn’t mean what I told yuh? 
Or is it I ain’t good enough for yore high-an’-mighti- 
ness? I’ll show yuh.” 

Like a flash his arms went about her, crushing her 
irresistibly against his breast. With a smothered cry 
she tried to thrust him back. Failing that, she man¬ 
aged to free one hand and, half mad with terror and 
disgust, struck him in the face with her clenched fist 
again and again. 

For a second or two he only gripped her closer. 
Then suddenly, as if one of her blows had found a 
tender spot, he gave an oath and flung her from him 
with such roughness that she stumbled across the un¬ 
even flooring, tripped, and fell against the log wall 
with a force that wrenched a cry of pain from her 
set lips. 

“ Yuh — vixen! ” he snarled furiously. “ Try that 
on me, will yuh? I’ll learn yuh a thing or two. 

I’ll-” 

Abruptly he broke off and whirled to face the door. 




The Fangs of the Spider 


205 


Huddled against the wall, Shirley got a fleeting 
glimpse of Ormsby Asher standing on the threshold, 
tall, gaunt, an expression in his hawklike face that 
turned her cold. She saw him close the door and take 
a single step forward into the room. Then, without 
the faintest preliminary movement, his right arm 
flashed up and from his cuff there seemed to spurt 
a penciling of yellow flame. 

As the sound of the shot reverberated through the 
room, Mogridge reeled back with a guttural cry, spun 
half around and sagging at the knees, sprawled face 
downward on the floor. Frozen with horror, unable 
to move a muscle, Shirley saw Asher leap forward, 
jerk the outlaw’s gun from his holster, and drop it 
close beside Mogridge’s outflung hand. When the 
door was opened an instant later he was standing just 
inside it, cold, erect, emotionless, the faintly smoking 
derringer in his hand. 

“ He pulled down on me,” he said in a cool, pas¬ 
sionless tone. “Lucky I carry a derringer up my 
sleeve. What’s the matter with him, anyhow? He 
must have got loco drinkin’ red-eye, or something.” 

For a brief space none of the men crowding the 
doorway spoke. Most of their faces were strange 
to Shirley, who found herself, even in that tense 
moment, wondering if Asher had brought them with 
him. Squint Greer, one of the Saddle Butte gang, did 
indeed glance suspiciously at the tall, somber, domi¬ 
nating figure, but swiftly dropped his eyes. The man 



206 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


with the black beard gave a grunt. 

“ Mebbe that’s it,” he commented. “ He was 
lushin’ it — sort of.” 

“I thought so,” shrugged Asher. “Well, better 
carry him out and see if you can do anything to 
bring him ’round. I had to shoot quick, but I didn’t 
aim to kill.” 

But Spike Mogridge was far beyond the reach of 
human ministrations. Shirley sensed it from the man¬ 
ner of the men as they lifted up the sprawling body 
and carried it out into the darkness. What was 
worse she knew that Asher had slain him purposely 
with a calm, cold, callous deliberation so infinitely 
more appalling than a deed of hot anger. As she 
stumbled to her feet, Nell flew over to her, and cling¬ 
ing together the two girls met the glance of those 
coldly brilliant eyes with the shrinking, fascinated 
terror the charmed bird has for the snake. 

“ Sorry to have given you ladies a shock, but it was 
unavoidable,” purred Asher, a touch of irony in his 
tone. “From what I saw, however, I gather that I 
spared Miss Rives some slight unpleasantness.” 

As he stroked his mustache meditatively, the dia¬ 
mond on his little finger flashed and sparkled in the 
lamplight like some evil thing alive. 

“ I only just arrived,” Asher went on presently. 
“ But one of my men tells me that — er — our friend 
sent for Judge Cawley to perform a — marriage 
ceremony.” 



The Fangs of the Spider 


207 


He paused invitingly, but neither of the girls spoke. 
Nell seemed on the point of collapse. Shirley, sick 
with horror and foreboding, suddenly began to shake 
as if with cold. For Asher’s glance, heavy-lidded, 
appraising, with a subtle, half-hidden expression, 
brought the color flaming into her face. Even before 
he spoke she knew that it was not Nell he wanted. 

“ It would be a pity to bring the judge all this 
way for nothing,” Asher mused softly. “ My friends 
often tell me that the life of a bachelor is a poor 
thing. Sometimes I wonder if they’re right.” 

He ceased, and for a brief space tense silence lay 
over the room. It was broken presently by the thud 
of hoofs passing the window. The sound seemed to 
beat upon Shirley’s brain like the dread inexorable 
march of fate. She straightened, her slim body stif¬ 
fening, and one clenched hand flew to her lips. Over 
it her eyes stared — great wells of purplish-black sunk 
in the dead pallor of her face. 

Asher had turned with catlike swiftness and faced 
the door, alert and listening. Presently the horse 
stopped; there was a jingle of the bit, the creak of 
saddle leather. Then a rough voice spoke: 

“ That yuh, Jedge? .... Oh, Spike? Waal 
— yuh see — Orms Asher’s inside. He’ll tell yuh all 
about it.” 

Asher’s tall, gaunt frame relaxed, and glancing 
over his shoulder his lips parted in a feline smile. 

An instant later the latch clicked. 




CHAPTER XXX 

DAN RIDES 

S NORTING, sweat-lathered, sides heaving, the 
gallant bay carrying his double burden, swept 
around the corner of the ranch house and narrowly 
missed colliding with a bunch of five hard-eyed, de¬ 
termined cowmen just ready to mount. Moran 
reined him to an abrupt halt and then met the hard, 
chilly gaze of Mrs. Haight, who stood a few feet 
away. Hat gone, iron gray hair ruffled by the breeze, 
her tanned face was set in hard, bitter lines, lips 
clamped, chin thrust forward, eyes glinting with a 
dangerous light. 

“Well?” she snapped harshly, as Cass Barton and 
another man ran forward to support the limp body 
of Colonel Rives. “ Whatsa matter? Is he dead?” 

Dan wiped away a trickle of blood oozing from a 
cut in his cheek where one of the later bullets had 
clipped him. 

“No,” he returned laconically. “Only fainted. 
He’s plugged in the shoulder an’ lost a lot o’ blood.” 

Mrs. Haight’s expression did not soften. “Lift 
him easy, Cass,” she directed. “Take him into my 
room an’ fix a bandage. I’ll be there in a minute.” 
Her glance shifted to Moran. “Who done it?” 
she demanded. 

Dan swung down from his saddle, shaking the 
208 


Dan Rides 


209 


stiffness out of his legs. He was a little puzzled at 
her manner, but accounted for it by the evident dis¬ 
like she had taken to him from the first. Without 
wasting words, he told her about the attack in the 
canon and their subsequent flight and escape. 

As Mrs. Haight listened, her glance fixed sharply 
on the man’s face, a faintly puzzled expression crept 
into her hard, black eyes. When he had finished she 
glanced swiftly at the cream standing nearby with 
torn, tattered bridle reins trailing, and then back to 
Dan. 

“Yuh mean to say yuh got enough dust in that 
time for somebody to hold yuh up for it?” she de¬ 
manded. 

Moran nodded. ‘‘Though how anybody got wise 
to it beats me. There’s over a thousand ounces on 
each one o’ these hawses,” he added in a lower tone. 
“ Only for the cream we’d have lost half of it.” His 
eyes swept the front of the ranch house. “Ain’t the 
— the girls around?” he asked with apparent incon¬ 
sequence. 

Her eyes glittered. “Around?” she snapped. 
“ I’ll tell yuh where they are. They’re gone! Stole 
by that friend o’ yores — Spike Mogridge! ” 

A flood of crimson surged into Moran’s clean-cut 
face, which suddenly seemed to freeze. 

“What was that yuh said?” he asked her quietly. 

“ They been carried off by that beast Mogridge, an’ 
his gang,” repeated the lady harshly. 




210 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Moran took a swift step toward her. His gray 
eyes had dilated to a deep purple; there was a dead- 
white streak around his mouth. 

“ Tell me! ” he urged in that same low, compelling 

tone. “Quick! When did it happen? Where-” 

There was something in fiis face which awed even 
Mrs. Haight’s sturdy nature and loosed her tongue 
in spite of herself. Had she been wrong, after all, 
she wondered. As she poured forth her narrative 
she watched Moran closely. 

“An hour before dinner. They went off for a ride 
up the valley this mornin’. When they didn’t show 
up by one, Cass an’ Slim Wichert started out to hunt 
’em up. At the foot o’ the trail they found Windy 
Bogert — shot! I’d sent him to Hatchet for some 
wagon bolts. He’d fell off’n his horse an’ the reins 
twisted around his wrist held the sorrel there. They 
brung him back, an’ when he come to, he told us he’d 
rid into Squint Greer an’ two o’ Asher’s men up over 
the rim who had hold o’ Shirley. She yelled at him 
and he fired but they got him first. His sorrel ran an’ 
he managed to hold on ’till he was jolted off at the 
bottom o’ the trail. That’s all he knew. Of course 
it mighta been Orms Asher, but Greer bein’ there, an’ 
from what Shirley told me about Mogridge, I sus- 
picioned— Where yuh goin’?” 

Dan had turned swiftly and swung into the saddle. 
“ Another hawss,’’ he flung back as he spurred toward 
the corral. 




Dan Rides 


211 


M rs. Haight watched him disappear and then 
turned a thoughtful face toward the three punchers. 

“I wonder if I could of got him wrong?” she 
pondered aloud. “Some way he don’t act like he 
was playin’ a part.” 

“ If yuh ask me,” commented Buck Stover, the 
straw boss, “ I’d say he was plumb in earnest. There’s 
some things a man can’t fake good.” 

“Yeah,” nodded Slim Wickert. “Yuh gotta re¬ 
member, too, he never was quite as rotten as most o’ 
that bunch o’ polecats over to Saddle Butte. I 
wouldn’t wonder if he did quit ’em cold jest like 
Shirley’s been tellin’ us all along.” 

“H’m!” grunted Mrs. Haight. There was no 
doubt in her mind that Shirley did trust this man 
completely, and a month’s close intercourse with the 
girl had given the older woman a favorable opinion 
of her judgment. “Yuh fellahs may’s well wait up 
for him,” she went on, as Cass and Pink Darrell came 
out of the house. “He’ll shore be a mighty helpful 
addition if it comes to a show-down. There’s some¬ 
thing about them eyes o’ his, an’ the set of his chin 
that-” 

She broke off at the sound of thudding hoofs and 
turned to see Moran, mounted on a splendid black 
thoroughbred, her own special, jealously guarded 
mount — whirl around the corner of the house. 

“ Mighta known he’d pick the best in the place,” 
she thought grimly. “Waal, after all-” 





212 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Dan pulled up with a jerk and dismounting swiftly, 
dragged out of his saddle pockets two heavy canvas 
bags, which he dropped at Mrs. Haight’s feet. 

“Take care of ’em, will yuh?” he asked, with a 
meaning look. “They belong to Rives, yuh know. 
There’s as much more on the cream. Yuh ain’t gonna 
be here alone, are yuh? Where’s the rest of the 
boys?” 

“They took some three-year olds to Fanning yes¬ 
terday an’ oughta show up any time now. Yuh 
needn’t fret none,” she added, reading his thoughts 
accurately. “ Besides m’ six-guns I got a sawed-off 
shot gun in the house that I’ll load pronto an’ keep 
handy for any callers! ” 

Moran nodded and swung back into the saddle. 
The others had already mounted and without further 
delay they set off down the valley at a lope. Immedi¬ 
ately Dan ranged alongside Cass Barton, and in a few 
minutes was acquainted with all the Bar S foreman 
knew about the affair. 

This was not much. Apparently Mrs. Haight had 
gleaned all the important facts. It was possible, of 
course, to speculate as to how the thing had come 
about, where the outlaws were heading for, and a 
dozen other details. But nothing could be definitely 
decided until they reached the spot where the outrage 
had taken place. 

Fortunately at this point the surface of the trail 
was not too hard to seize and hold illuminating im- 



Dan Rides 


213 


pressions. Two nights before there had been a heavy 
shower which blotted out the old tracks and held the 
impress of later ones with quite sufficient distinctness. 
In less than ten minutes the pursuers had gathered all 
there was to see and were spurring their mounts along 
the trail toward Hatchet. 

By this time it was after four. Little over an hour 
later they pulled up in front of the deserted Driscoll 
house where only a glance was needed at the smooth, 
untrodden sweep of bare ground leading in from the 
road to send them on again. 

Two miles farther on they clattered across a ridge 
of rock and were speeding on toward a sharp bend 
that paralleled the river, when Moran jerked the 
black to a halt and bent sidewise in his saddle. 

“ Hold up, fellahs,” he said quickly. “ That bunch 
never passed here.” 

He slipped to the ground and one or two of the 
others followed his example. Though a number of 
hoof marks pointed the other way, only two sets — 
and these were very fresh indeed — headed toward 
Hatchet. 

“They’ve turned off some’ers between here an’ 
Driscoll’s,” decided Cass. 

He glanced questioningly toward Moran, who was 
staring back along the trail. 

“That seam we just passed would be a likely 
place,” Dan remarked thoughtfully. “ Let’s go back 
an’ look it over.” 



214 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


At first they found no encouragement. Toward 
the river the granite soon gave place to sand and 
that in turn to soft ooze, both innocent of any tracks. 
In the other direction, even for a considerable direc¬ 
tion from the trail, the bare rock showed not the 
slightest mark or scratch. Then all at once Moran 
noticed the broken stem of a sturdy little plant grow¬ 
ing in a crevice and his eyes brightened. Presently 
Cass pointed out a bruised bit of juniper, and later 
on another. 

“ Looks like we’re on the right track,” he declared 
jubilantly. “ They’re followin’ the curve o’ the ridge, 
an’ keepin’ out o’ sight on the north side.” 

Moran nodded. He had ridden up to the crest of 
the ridge and was staring thoughtfully at the rolling, 
dappled open country to the south. 

“Asher’s outfit, ain’t it?” he asked, glancing down 
at the others. 

“Shore,” nodded Stover. “The buildings are 
back o’ that round hill about eight miles to the south.” 

For a space they rode on in silence, following the 
trail with increasing ease as the men ahead grew 
more careless. When the straggling clumps of spruce 
began to thicken into a more or less continuous 
growth sweeping over both sides of the ridge, the 
thing became child’s play. 

“Ain’t there an old line camp up this end o’ the 
ranch some’ers?” asked Dan suddenly. “Seems to 
me I remember-” 




Dan Rides 


215 


“Why, shore there is,” cut in Slim Wichert. “A 
log shack set down in a kind of basin with a bunch o’ 
spruce around it. Don’t guess they use it much.” 

Moran and Barton exchanged glances and urged 
their horses to a greater speed. With only an occa¬ 
sional brief comment they pushed on through the 
spruce growth. About half an hour later the trail 
they were following turned abruptly to the eastward, 
cutting almost directly across the summit of the ridge. 

At Dan’s suggestion they all dismounted and lead¬ 
ing their horses, went in cautiously. His vague recol¬ 
lection of the line camp — in which he was confirmed 
by Wichert — was that it lay rather close to the foot 
of the ridge, so that he was not surprised after some 
ten minutes of walking to glimpse through the thin¬ 
ning branches at the low, squat building set down in 
a shallow hollow not more than half a mile below 
them. 

The distance, the gathering dusk and interfering 
foliage made it impossible from where they stood to 
study the place with any satisfaction. A little distance 
to the right, however, a bare rocky shelf jutted out 
from the ridge. Making their way thither four of 
the men remained under cover while Barton and 
Moran crawled out through the undergrowth. 
Stretched flat on the ledge, Moran took the field 
glasses Cass handed him and hurriedly focused them 
on the hollow. 

The details, though much clearer, were still consid- 



216 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


erably obscured by the rapidly falling dusk. Dan 
saw enough, however, to wring an oath from between 
his clenched teeth. The corral seemed full of horses; 
he did not even try to count them. Outside the bars 
a fire was just being kindled and standing or lounging 
around it were a dozen or fifteen men. Who they 
were or where they had come from he had no idea. 
Nor could he locate Mogridge himself. With a feel¬ 
ing of baffled, impotent fury, he passed the glasses 
to his companion. 



CHAPTER XXXI 

THE SLIM EDGE OF HAZARD 


S OME o’ Asher’s punchers from the Three Cir¬ 
cles,” Cass whispered after a brief scrutiny. “ I 
can make out Cliff Trexler the foreman an’ two, 
three others. The girls must be in the cabin, huh? 
Hell’s bells!” He lowered the glass and stared at 
Moran. “We’ll shore have one dandy time gettin’ 
’em away from that bunch.” 

“ It’s gotta be done, though,” declared Dan. “An’ 
there ain’t a thing to be gained by puttin’ it off. Let’s 
drag it.” 

He slid back through the bushes, Barton close be¬ 
hind him. It took but a few words to explain the situ¬ 
ation to the waiting punchers, none of whom made 
any comment. Their faces were mostly invisible in 
the shadow, but Dan noted with pleasure a general 
hitching up of cartridge belts and shifting of holsters. 
Evidently there was no thought of backing down. 

“We better lead the cayuses down through the 
scrub as far as we can an’ tether ’em there,” he said 
in a low tone. “They won’t be seen in the dark, an’ 
we’ll want to have ’em as close to the cabin as we 
can. Mebbe we can sneak right up to— What’s 
that?” 

In the silence that followed there was wafted to 
them on the still night air the thud of hoofs, the 
217 


218 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


swishing of branches, even the indistinct mumble of 
voices. The sounds came from the farther side of 
the ridge. Evidently two persons at least were ap¬ 
proaching along the same general course they them¬ 
selves had taken. Almost as one man Moran and the 
Bar S punchers left their horses standing and sped 
swiftly and noiselessly back through the trees. 

Guided by the sounds and particularly by one ex¬ 
ceedingly strident voice which was presently discov¬ 
ered to be uttering one continuous stream of curses, 
they spread out along what seemed likely to be the 
course the unknown pair would take. 

“-the-trees! ” snarled the profane 

one furiously. “ I like to have my eye gouged out 
jest then, by Gawd!” 

As he recognized the familiar accents of Monk 
Henger, Moran’s heart leaped savagely and he 
gripped Cass Barton’s arm. “ I’ll take the first one 
an’ yuh grab the other,” he breathed. “Tell Slim an 
Pink to get the horses. No noise, o’ course.” 

A moment later the bulking forms of two riders 
advancing in single file loomed through the shadows. 
Crouching beside a tree trunk Moran waited, mus¬ 
cles tensed, fingers spread out like clutching claws un¬ 
til the first horse was nearly abreast of him. Out of 
the corner of his eye he noted Barton’s position a 
little to the right. An instant longer he held himself 
in and then he leaped. 

Hands accurately circling Henger’s throat, he 



219 


The Slim Edge of Hazard 

dragged the man swiftly from the saddle and flung 
him to the ground. There was a momentary furious 
struggle, but Henger was no match for this man in 
whom the frenzied passion to kill was held in leash 
by the most tenuous thread. Someone grabbed the 
bridles of the startled horses. Their stamping and a 
stifled, frightened squawk from the second man was 
all that ruffled the still serenity of the night. With 
Stover’s assistance Dan bound and gagged the half- 
choked Henger and then stepped back to where Cass 
squatted beside a prone and bulky figure. 

“ Who is it? ” he asked in a low tone. 

“ Cawley, justice of the peace in Hatchet. Him 
an’ Asher are thick as thieves, an’ jest as crooked.” 

“Huh! What do yuh s’pose he’s doin’ here?” 

“Got me,” shrugged Barton. “We might ask 
him. Take yore hand off’n his mouth, Bill.” 

The puncher obeyed, and Moran, bethinking him¬ 
self of a small pocket flash he carried, produced it 
and turned the thin but sufficiently powerful beam on 
the prisoner. He was a tall man with broad shoul¬ 
ders and what had once been an excellent figure. But 
sloth and good living had long since clothed his frame 
in a too, too solid mass of fat. A prominent paunch 
mounded the odd brown linen dust coat he wore — 
a paunch which quivered like jelly with every fear¬ 
some tremor that shook his ample person. Barton 
perceptibly increased these tremors by drawing his 
gun and poking the barrel against the judge’s stomach. 




220 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“No tricks, yuh oV terrapin,” he admonished. 
“ Yuh let one holler outa yuh, an’- 

His thrusting emphasis brought a little moan from 
the fat man’s pendulous lips. “Lord A’mighty!” 
he gasped. “ I ain’t goin’ to holler. I wouldn’t 
think of it. Gawsake! Take away that gun, won’t 
you? You got it cocked.” 

“ Shore I have, an’ my finger’s draggin’ on the trig¬ 
ger. Set up! ” 

With a heave and a quiver, the judge struggled to 
a sitting posture, his bulging eyes shifting from side 
to side, his weak mouth agape. His hair, grown long 
on one side and habitually combed carefully across a 
prominent bald spot, had become disarranged and 
hung down like a curtain over one ear. Barton’s lips 
twitched in a momentary grim smile. 

“Now spit it out! ” he commanded. “What are 
yuh up to, yuh slimy ol’ he-buzzard? What’s brought 
yuh here?” 

“I was — s-s-sent for,” palpitated Cawley hur¬ 
riedly. “ Mogridge sent for me to come out — right 
away to — to Orms’ old line camp an — an’ marry 
him.” 

A dead silence, broken only by a noticeable stir 
among the men standing around, followed this an¬ 
nouncement. 

Barton’s eyes, shifting sidewise, noted the hard, 
bitter, frozen look on Moran’s face, curiously con¬ 
tradicted by the blazing passion in his gray eyes, 




The Slim Edge of Hazard 


221 


and looked hastily away again. The stillness was 
so prolonged, however, that Cass finally glanced 
back again to find with some surprise that Dan’s rage 
had been succeeded by an expression of keen, alert 
speculation. 

u Get up! ” Moran ordered abruptly, his eyes on 
Cawley. 

Pallid and shaking the judge staggered to his feet 
and stood there swaying. “ Wa — what you goin’ — 
to do ?” he gurgled. “ Lord A’mighty! I-” 

Moran silenced him with a fierce gesture. 

‘‘About my height, ain’t he?” he said, glancing at 
Barton. “About the same size around the shoulders, 
too, I’d say.” 

“ Jest about,” nodded the puzzled Barton. 

“O’ course,” pursued Dan meditatively, “he 
weighs a good thirty pounds more, but on a hawss in 
the dark the paunch wouldn’t be missed under that 
long coat o’ his. With his black hat pulled 
down-” 

“ Hell’s bells! ” cut in Cass. “ Yuh ain’t thinkin’ o’ 
dressin’ up in his clothes an’ goin’ down there — 
alone?” 

Moran’s lips tightened. “Somethin’ like that’s 
gotta be done. Lissen. Them two girls are in the 
cabin. Likely enough Mogridge or somebody else 
he can trust is w r atchin’ ’em close. If we bust down 
there hell bent, what would yuh give for their chances 
o’ gettin’ out alive? Man, I know that devil. If he 





222 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


saw the girl was gonna slip through his fingers he’d 
shoot her cold. If I can pull this trick at least I can 
get inside an’ down him first. It’s full dark by now, 
an’ the fire’s some ways off from the door. Yuh fel¬ 
lahs can sneak up pretty close an’ be ready to pile in 
the minute I settle Mogridge. How about it? If 
yuh can think of a better way, I’m willin’ to try any¬ 
thing— only we gotta act quick.” 

“Not me,” returned Barton promptly. “I ain’t 
got no brains a-tall when it comes to thinkin’ out this 
sorta thing. At that, it might work, an’ if yore willin’ 
to try it, Gawd knows we’ll back yuh up. Slide outa 
that coat, Cawley,” he added sharply. “ Where’s his 
hat? An’ don’t forget that handkerchief he alius 
wears ’round his fat neck to keep the dust out.” 

While Moran hastily donned the borrowed gar¬ 
ments, the judge was firmly bound and gagged in 
spite of his quavering promises not to stir until they 
gave him leave. Henger’s fastenings were also ex¬ 
amined and tightened, and then, taking the two extra 
horses with them, all six started off down the slope. 

Before reaching the edge of the hollow they paused 
at the sound of hoof beats rapidly approaching from 
the east. These came on and passed, going in the 
direction of the cabin. Barton suggested that the 
unseen riders must be more of the Three Circle men 
— perhaps Asher himself — coming direct from the 
ranch house. But after all, with the odds against 
them two or three more made little or no difference. 



The Slim Edge of Hazard 


223 


Much more disturbing was the muffled pistol shot 
that halted them at the edge of the clearing. It 
seemed to come from inside the cabin and was fol¬ 
lowed by a stir and bustle and considerable running 
to and fro by the men gathered about the fire over 
by the corral. But it was not repeated, and presently 
when the excitement had quieted down, Moran, who 
had held himself in by sheer will power, abruptly an¬ 
nounced that he was going on. 

u Yuh fellahs sneak up as close as yuh dare, but 
don’t take any chances. When yuh hear another shot, 
that’ll be time enough to get on the jump.” 

Without further speech, he touched the judge’s 
horse with his spur and trotted off into the darkness. 
He had already taken his weapon from the holster 
and dropped it into the side pocket of Cawley’s dus¬ 
ter. Presently, as the dark bulk of the cabin loomed 
ahead, he slid his right hand down and gripped the 
butt. 

Walking his horse around the corner of the cabin 
he thought for an instant that he might reach the door 
unnoticed by the men who seemed to be all gathered 
around the fire. But as he slid out of the saddle, hat 
brim pulled over his eyes and shoulders slightly 
hunched, a man stepped suddenly out of the shadows. 

“That yuh, Jedge?” he asked, peering at Moran. 

“Yes,” returned Dan promptly, in an excellent 
imitation of Cawley’s throaty tones. “Where’s 
Mogridge?” 



224 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“Oh — Spike?” queried the other hesitatingly. 
“Waal — yuh see — Orms Asher’s inside. He’ll tell 
yuh all about it.” 

Puzzled, wary, conscious alike of the need for 
haste and the danger of betraying himself to the 
Three Circle man — who had fortunately come up 
on the other side of his horse — Moran stepped over 
to the door and felt for the latch. Drawing his gun, 
he concealed it in the folds of the voluminous duster. 
Then with a swift, agile movement, he pushed the 
door open, stepped through and closed it behind him. 

Asher faced the door about ten feet distant, his 
tall, lean figure outlined prominently in the mellow 
lamplight. He presented an almost perfect target, 
but to Dan’s dismay Shirley and Nell Driscoll were 
standing close behind him directly in the line of fire. 



CHAPTER XXXII 

THE BLACK CARRIES DOUBLE 


A S THE latch clicked a desperate determination 
„ swept over Shirley Rives to resist this horror 
by every effort in her power. Surely this judge, no 
matter how corrupt, would not dare to perform that 
mockery of a ceremony in the face of her passionate 
and pleading protest. Slim figure straightening de¬ 
terminedly, she took a step to one side so that she 
could see the doorway around Asher’s intervening 
shoulder. 

The man who entered was tall, with sagging shoul¬ 
ders and a big frame covered rather grotesquely by a 
long, wrinkled dust coat. A red handkerchief was 
knotted about his throat, and the wide-brimmed black 
felt hat was dragged so low that his face was quite 
invisible. His appearance was neither inviting nor 
reassuring, and though Shirley had not expected 
much, she gave a disappointed sigh. 

And then — a miracle! For a fleeting instant, be¬ 
tween the lowered hat brim and the knotted handker¬ 
chief, her eyes — sharpened by love and terror — per¬ 
ceived the outline of a square, cleft chin. It was the 
merest flash of an impression, but it was enough. She 
knew! Against all probability and even reason, he 
had come to her, and her heart leaped chokingly. 

All in the same instant — her wits were sharpened, 
225 


226 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


too, by love, and fear, for him — she realized his 
peril. She saw that he could not fire at Asher be¬ 
cause of her position; only too well was she aware of 
their captor’s deadly swiftness. And so, without an 
instant’s hesitation, she leaped forward and catching 
Asher’s right wrist with both her hands, clung to it 
desperately. 

She was just in time. Under her gripping fingers 
she felt the hard, compact bulk of the derringer, 
operated by some contrivance of strong elastic bands. 
Even as Moran leaped forward, Asher’s furious up¬ 
ward jerk of the arm swung the girl fairly off her 
feet, but still failed to loose her hold. 

It was all over in a second. With a dull sickening 
thud Moran’s heavy Colt crushed through the high 
crowned black felt hat. Asher reeled, staggered, and 
crumpled to the floor, his fall eased by the swift hold 
of the man who had laid him low, making no notice¬ 
able noise. Hat gone, eyes blazing, crisp blond hair 
rising in a crest above his clean-cut face, Moran 
caught Shirley as she swayed- toward him. 

“Oh, Dan — Dan!” she sobbed hysterically. 
“ You came! It’s been so horrible! ” 

For a second he crushed her to him, eloquent gray 
eyes devouring her haggard face. “ I know,” he 
whispered soothingly. “But it’s over now — or al¬ 
most. We’ve got to get outa here quick. I saw a 
window-” 


“ Of course.” Swiftly she pulled herself together 





The Black Carries Double 


227 


and with flushed face and brilliant eyes, glanced to¬ 
ward the closed opening. “There’s been a man 
watching it all afternoon.” 

“He ain’t there now,” reassured Dan. With a 
jerk he shed the encumbering dust coat, ripped the 
handkerchief from his neck and softly unhooked the 
shutter. “ Cass an’ some o’ the Bar S boys are waitin’ 
for us straight back o’ the cabin. Yuh an’ Nell beat 
it to them as quick as yuh can, an’ I’ll follow. Sabe? ” 

She nodded. “You — you won’t delay?” she 
whispered. 

His eyes caressed her gently. “Not me,” he 
drawled. “Ready, Nell? All right. Let’s go.” 

Without a sound the shutter swung open, and lift¬ 
ing Shirley bodily in his arms, Moran swung her 
through the opening. Nell was helped through as 
quickly. Then, just as Dan had flung one long leg 
across the sill, the sound of steps came from outside 
the door. 

Swinging through the opening, he closed the shut¬ 
ter and ran, the echoes of a brisk rap at the door 
bringing a grim smile to his lips. 

“ Knock away,” he muttered, racing over the un¬ 
even ground. “Yo’re jest about sixty seconds too 
late.” 

As he caught up with the girls, a muffled, surprised 
yell issued from the cabin. Several voices answered 
it and from the direction of the campfire came the 
thud of scurrying feet. But before the throng of 



228 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Three Circle men could have much more than reached 
the cabin, Moran, a girl clinging to each arm, plunged 
into the little bunch of waiting Bar S punchers. 

Eager hands hoisted Nell to the back of Monk 
Henger’s horse. Moran hastily mounted the black 
and lifted Shirley to a place in front of him. Barton 
and the others flung themselves into their paddles, 
and with a swerving turn, a swift drumming of hoofs, 
they swept around and sped away into the darkness. 

“ Straight along this side o’ the ridge,” shouted 
Barton. “ It’s longer, but we won’t get messed up 
in those trees.” 

Back of them the darkness was riven by a little 
tongue of flame and the crack of the shot echoed 
through the still night air. Another followed and 
another still, and then a regular fusillade of snapping 
shots. But Asher’s men were firing blindly and their 
bullets all went wild. Before saddles could be flung 
onto hastily roped horses, the rescue party had se¬ 
cured an almost hopeless lead. 

Aided by the brilliant starlight, which was bright 
enough for their purpose, but of no help to their pur¬ 
suers, they swept on across the rolling, open country, 
the horses responding gallantly to every urge. Far 
behind, the thud of pursuing hoofs was barely aud¬ 
ible. But by the time they reached the trail and were 
headed westward toward the Bar S, these had died 
away. Evidently, lacking Asher’s guiding hand, his 
men had given up the pursuit as hopeless. 



The Black Carries Double 


229 


Until this moment there had been little or no op¬ 
portunity for speech. Indeed, Shirley, in the blissful 
reaction from those interminable hours of strain and 
mental suffering, was perfectly content to lie there 
silent. Wedged in between the saddle horn and 
Moran’s body, jolted every now and then by the 
inevitable stumbling.of the doubly-ladened black, her 
position might have seemed one of acute discomfort. 

But it was not — at least to her. Dan’s left arm 
was around her shoulders. Her right hand slipped 
down along his side found a steadying hold on his 
broad leather belt. Under the rough flannel of his 
shirt against which her face was pressed, she could 
hear the strong, rhythmic beating of his heart. It all 
meant safety, security — and something even more, 
and when at length he began to talk in low tones, 
telling her of the happenings of the past few hours, 
she listened dreamily, her mind not more than half 
on what he was saying. 

Only the knowledge that Windy Bogert had not 
been slain but was in a good way to recovery, stirred 
her to fervent gratitude. She was troubled, of 
course, to learn about her father, but as his wound — 
this Moran had from Barton — was far from dan¬ 
gerous, her worry over him was not long enduring. 
Of the treasure they had found she scarcely gave a 
thought. 

At length, when all was told, Moran fell silent for 
a space. Strung out in single file, the horses were 



230 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


slowly mounting a steep part of the narrow trail, the 
black bringing up the lead. 

“What made yuh grab Asher’s arm?” asked Dan 
suddenly in a low tone. “Yuh know—that saved 
my life. He always carries a derringer up his sleeve, 
an’ he’s quick as lightnin’ with it.” 

“ I — know,” said Shirley with a momentary shud¬ 
der. “ I saw him use it! ” 

“But my face was covered by the hatbrim — at 
least it must have been, or he’d have plugged me.” 

“I — I saw — your chin,” she told him slowly. 

“My—chin!” puzzled. “Why, what’s there 
about my chin that’s different from anybody else’s?” 

She did not answer at once. Instead her head 
dropped back a little against his shoulder and she 
raised her eyes to his. 

“ It’s — just —yours ” she murmured softly. 

For an instant Moran sat rigid, gray eyes search¬ 
ing her shy, flushed, lovely face. Loosened by the 
cool night breeze a wavy strand of brown hair gently 
caressed his cheek. It was a moment in which they 
two seemed suddenly alone — shut out entirely from 

the whole wide world.Abruptly his 

arm tightened about her; his head bent swiftly. 



CHAPTER XXXIII 

GONE 


M RS. HAIGHT stood in the doorway of the 
Bar S living room, arms folded, an expres¬ 
sion of regret on her square, capable tanned face. 

“ I shore will miss yuh,” she remarked, in her 
strong, hearty voice. “Though I s’posed you’d be 
off as soon as the kunnel was well enough to back a 
hoss. I dunno when I’ve had such a pleasant time, 
barrin’ that muss-up a coupla weeks ago, which turned 
out all right, in the end, praise be! It gets powerful 
lonesome here, believe me, with nothin’ but men 
around day in an’ day out.” 

“You’ll still have Nell, won’t you?” reminded 
Shirley Rives, glancing sidewise at the girl sitting 
beside her on the lumpy old sofa. 

The ranchwoman’s eyes brightened and she 
slapped her thigh with one calloused hand. “ My 
soul!” she exclaimed. “I clean forgot she didn’t 
have to be hittin’ the trail jest because she come here 
along with you folks. How about it, Nellie? Think 
yuh can put up with me an’ the Bar S for a while 
longer? ” 

The soft pink deepened in Nell Driscoll’s face and 
she dropped her lids. “I — I’d like very much to 
stay — if you want me,” she murmured. 

“I shore do!” Mrs. Haight’s bright black eyes 
231 


232 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


twinkled suddenly. “So does another party not a 
thousand miles from here. I dunno what Cass Bar¬ 
ton would have to say to me if I went an’ let yuh go,’* 
she continued, undeterred by any false delicacy. 
“Well! That perks me up considerable, though I’d 
ruther the whole crowd of yuh was gonna stay. Yuh 
shore that shoulder’s well enough for yuh to fan the 
trail, kunnel?” 

Colonel Rives turned a little stiffly in his chair. His 
long, thin face was pale and hollow-cheeked, and 
around his neck there still dangled the ample hand¬ 
kerchief w T hich had done duty as a sling. But his left 
arm rested free on the table beside him and as he 
spoke he moved it experimentally. 

“Quite, thank you, ma’am,” he returned in his 
soft, courteous southern drawl. “To tell the truth, 
even if it wasn’t, I should rather chance some — er 
— slight discomfort than risk lingering here any 
longer. It isn’t that we’ve not enjoyed your hospi¬ 
tality. You’ve been more than kind, and I really 
have no idea what we should have done without you. 
But I don’t believe I’ll have a moment’s real peace 
until the — er-” 

“ I get yuh,” Mrs. Haight agreed crisply, as he 
paused. “ I dunno’s I blame yuh a mite, neither. 
Orms Asher ain’t one to take a beatin’ without lashin’ 
back. I got as much nerve as most, I expect, but I’d 
as soon poke up a full grown rattler as cross him like 
yuh done. He won’t forget — ever; an’ he’s gonna 




Gone 


233 


do his level to get square. What’s yore plans? Yuh 
ain’t got an awful easy job ahead of yuh, I’d say.” 

Her glance sought the face of Dan Moran leaning 
against the rough stone chimney-piece. Somehow, 
she found a comfortable sense of dependency in the 
expression of those steady, clear gray eyes. 

“We’ll beat it for Fanning,” he answered readily, 
“ an’ take a train there for the nearest town where 
there’s a proper bank. Like the colonel, I won’t be 
real easy in my mind until that gold’s stowed away 
in a good, strong vault.” 

“Yo’re right,” agreed Mrs. Haight emphatically. 
“This ain’t no kind of a country to ride around 
with a mess of gold like that in yore saddle bags. 
Some weight it is, too, believe me! I had all I could 
do to drag it in here. You’ll have to spread it around 
consid’able.” 

Moran nodded. “ Divided among the three of 
us there’ll be about fifty pounds apiece. The 
cayuses’ll take that all right.” 

“A hundred and fifty pounds!” murmured Mrs. 
Haight. She appeared to make a rapid calculation. 
“Thirty thousand dollars, an’ more! My land o’ 
love! ” There was no envy in her square, honest 
face, merely a look of awed amazement. “An’ what 
will yuh be doin’ after that? ” she went on, a gleam of 
very human curiosity in her bright eyes. “ Come back 
an’ see if yuh can dig up some more? ” 

Moran did not reply at once. His glance, and that 



234 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


of Shirley, shifted simultaneously to the face of 
Colonel Rives. It was the latter who made swift 
answer. 

“ No! ” he stated emphatically. “ I think I’ve had 
enough. There was a time,” he confessed, “ when I 
didn’t suppose I’d ever tire of the lure and fascina¬ 
tion of prospecting. But now— Well, I dare say 
I’m getting old, and-” 

“ Old! ” cut in Mrs. Haight briskly. “ My soul! 
Why, yo’re only in the prime of life. All the same, 
I think yo’re right. It’s a hard business, an’ risky, 
as you’ve jest found out. You’ve made yore pile an’ 
now yuh can settle down an’ enjoy it. You’ll not be 
goin’ back East I hope?” 

“Scarcely. We’ve been away too long; there are 
almost no ties left. Of course if you, my dear-” 

He glanced questioningly at Shirley, who shook her 
head. 

“ I haven’t the least desire to go back, Dad,” she 
answered promptly. “I like the West — too well.” 
Her glance dwelt for an instant on Moran’s face and 
she flushed slightly. “ I think it would be nice to buy 
a ranch and settle down in some quiet place, I mean 
where there’s some sort of law and order. It’s lovely 
right here,” she added, glancing at Mrs. Haight; 
“ but it’s a little too near Hatchet.” 

The older woman’s wholesome face darkened. 
“Well may yuh say it!” she ejaculated hotly; 
“ though in my opinion it’s Orms Asher who’s to 





Gone 


235 


blame for all the dirty, underhand work that goes 
on over there. There he sits like an ugly spider in 
his web, spinnin’ his plots, corruptin’ people right an’ 
left, gettin’ graft from everythin’, an’ not stoppin’ at 
any sort of crime. Before he come the place was 
as decent an’ lawabidin’ as the average, but now 
those that ain’t with him are afraid to be against 
him. Some day, though, he’ll get what’s cornin’ to 
him, an’ I only hope I’ll be there to see it.” 

She paused, face flushed and eyes snapping. Then 
abruptly her pugnacious jaw relaxed and a wintry 
smile curved her straight lips. 

“Ain’t I the limit to get ribbed up this way?” 
she commented. “Jest thinkin’ about the reptile alius 
did make me mad, though, an’—” She paused and 
turned her head listening. “ I thought I heard Pat 
scratchin’ at the door,” she explained a moment later. 
“ Funny he ain’t been around all day. Last I seen 
him was late yesterday afternoon.” 

“ He was playin’ around with Art Gessner over 
by the harness room after supper,” commented 
Moran, flicking his cigarette butt into the empty 
fireplace. 

Mrs. Haight looked puzzled. “Art! Never 
knowed the dog to take to him before. Wonder if 
he could have followed him to Fanning this mornin’. 
But, shucks! It ain’t likely he’d set out to go all that 
way. He sticks around pretty close except when he 
scents a rabbit. He’ll show up when he’s hungry, 



236 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


all right. If yo’re planning’ to start off tomorrow, I 
expect you’d want to get out the stuff now an’ pack it 
up convenient.” 

“Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” agreed Moran. “ It’s 
in four bags an’ we’ll want it in six — two for each 
hoss. I might ’a’ done it when yuh had the hole open 
day before yesterday, but we hadn’t quite decided 
then.” 

“Now’s as good a time as you’ll have,” affirmed 
Mrs. Haight, leaving her place in the doorway. “ The 
boys ’ll be in for supper right soon, but they’re alius 
too hungry to come mouchin’ up here ’till after 
they’ve ate. Not that I’m afraid to trust ’em, but 
what a fellah don’t know, he can’t let slip — as the 
best of ’em might do with a coupla hookers under 
their belt. Cass Barton’s the only one who’s wise to 
where it’s hid.” 

The two girls had risen from the sofa, and Mrs. 
Haight and Moran together moved it out from 
against the wall. Underneath, the rough floor 
boards, laid here as elsewhere with an occasional 
short length, showed not the least sign of having been 
disturbed. Indeed, so well contrived was this hidden 
place where Mrs. Haight was accustomed to keep 
her few papers and little hoard of savings, that 
though Dan had been present at its opening two days 
before, he was actually at a loss until the woman 
pointed out the proper board. 

“ I alius said my late husband did a good job,” she 



Gone 


237 


chuckled, dropping down on the floor; “though the 
Lord knows he never expected it would hold the for¬ 
tune that’s in it now. Pick out them two nails at yore 
end an’ then lemme take yore knife.” 

The nails at each end of the board, whose rusted 
heads looked as if they were firmly embedded in the 
wood, came away easily once the thin steel was thrust 
under them. Then Mrs. Haight inserted the knife 
blade carefully into a narrow crack and raised one 
edge of the plank, which was lifted out and laid to one 
side, revealing a cavity some five feet long, about ten 
inches wide and very nearly as deep. 

Automatically Moran thrust forward one hand, 
but his fingers had barely touched the edge of the 
opening when the movement ceased abruptly. At 
the same instant Mrs. Haight’s fresh, wholesome 
face seemed to freeze. Swiftly she bent forward, 
staring into the hole with wide, startled, unbelieving 
eyes. Then catching her breath, she settled back on 
her heels and looked at Moran in a sort of dazed and 
stony horror. 

“What is it?” cried Shirley, her eyes fixed on 
Dan’s face, which had suddenly hardened into a cold, 
grim mask. “ What’s happened ? ” 

Slowly he turned and looked up at her. His long- 
lashed gray eyes had turned almost black and there 
was an ominous white line around his mouth. 

“ It’s gone! ” he told her harshly. 



CHAPTER XXXIV 

THE VANISHED WATCHER 


S HIRLEY caught her breath. “Gone!” she 
gasped. “You don’t mean the — the gold! ” 
Unable to credit even his silent confirming nod, she 
stepped swiftly forward and bent over the long, nar¬ 
row cavity in the floor. Some loose papers lay at the 
bottom of it, a cigar box tied with string, a small par¬ 
cel, but that was all. Of the four bulging canvas bags 
she had seen there not forty-eight hours before there 
was no trace. 

Dazed, bewildered, sick at heart, the girl straight¬ 
ened to find her father standing close beside her. 
The sight of his face haggard, despairing, aged a 
dozen years in as many seconds stabbed through her 
like a knife. Reaching out swiftly, she caught one of 
his thin hands in both of hers and held it tight. 

“But where’s it gone?” she cried, still scarcely 
able to believe the evidence of her senses. “I — I — 

don’t understand. Who is there that could-” 

“That’s what I wanta know!” exploded Mrs. 


Haight, her harsh, hard voice, freighted with grow¬ 
ing fury, breaking ruthlessly into Shirley’s speech. 

She stood up suddenly, face flushed, eyes glittering, 
callous, work-worn hands tightly clenched. 

“That’s what I wanta know!” she repeated 
harshly. “ Who is there that could of done it? Ex- 



The Vanished Watcher 


23 9 


ceptin’ us five, who is there that even knew it was 
here? ” 

For a moment no one spoke. Moran had risen 
and pulling out tobacco sack and papers, was swiftly 
and expertly rolling a cigarette. His face was calm, 
almost expressionless, but Shirley knew him well 
enough to realize that the still, cold mask covered a 
seething volcano of emotions. 

“ Most of the boys were around when I brought it 
down from the mountains,” he said quietly, flicking 
a match into flame with his thumb nail. “ It was a 
fool thing to do — droppin’ it down in front of every¬ 
body that way, but— Well, I wan’t thinkin’ about 
gold or anythin’ else jest that minute.” 

“ No more was any of us,” supported Mrs. Haight. 
“ But even so, seein’ it lay there on the ground is a 
long ways from knowin’ where it was hid. I’ll bet 
my last cent there ain’t a man on the ranch knows 
about this place except — except-” 

Her strong voice trailed off into silence that seemed 
drawn-out and prolonged somehow to the point of 
significance. Frowning, she glanced at Moran to find 
his gaze fixed on the face of the girl he loved, who 
returned it with steadfast, wholly trusting eyes. It 
was Nell Driscoll who, quite suddenly and unex¬ 
pectedly, broke the silence. 

“Mrs. Haight!” she gasped tremulously, delicate 
face flushed crimson, slim fingers tightly interlaced. 
“You don’t — you can’t believe that Cass-” 





240 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Mrs. Haight turned toward her. “ Lawks, child! ” 
she ejaculated somewhat curtly. “ I ain’t said any¬ 
thin’ against him, have I ? ” 

“ No, but you’re thinking— You said he — knew 
about this hiding place, that he was the only one.” 
Her eyes, usually so softly placid, flashed fire and her 
hands clenched. “ It isn’t so! ” she cried passionately. 
“ I know it! Cass would never in the world do any¬ 
thing mean or underhand. It’s cruel of you even to 
think that he-” 

At the sound of the kitchen door closing she broke 
off with a little choke and one hand flew to her lips. 
A moment later, as a tall young fellow with level 
brown eyes and crisply curling hair, appeared in the 
open doorway, the girl flew across the room and flung 
herself on him, sobbing. 

“ Oh, Cass — Cass! I know it — isn’t true.” 

One gray clad arm slid around her swiftly, while 
the other hand gently patted her shoulder. “There 
now, kid, don’t take on like that,” soothed Barton. 
“O’ course it ain’t true if yuh say so.” Over the 
edge of a blue muslin frill his puzzled eyes regarded 
the motionless group around the open hole, and sud¬ 
denly they hardened. “ I shore dunno what it’s all 
about,” he went on swiftly, a sudden bewilderment 
showing in his eyes, “but if anybody’s been sayin’ 

or doin’ anythin’ to upset yuh-” 

“We’re wastin’ time,” cut in Mrs. Haight ruth¬ 
lessly. With her strong, capable face and strong, 





The Vanished Watcher 


241 


wide-shouldered, stocky figure, she seemed to dom¬ 
inate the room. “There ain’t a mite o’ reason for 
yore takin’ on like this, child. Nobody’s said a word 
against him, an’ nobody’s gonna. Yo’re too quick to 
rare up, though I shore admire yore spunk. The 
trouble’s this, Cass: Somebody’s been at this hidin’ 
place o’ mine an’ stole the kunnel’s gold.” 

The brown eyes widened, then narrowed. The 
brown hand tightened for an instant on the girl’s 
shoulder. A puzzled wrinkle dodged into Barton’s 
smooth, tanned forehead to vanish swiftly as his 
pleasant, candid face took on the hard consistency 
of bronze. 

“Meanin\” he drawled gently, “that yuh think 
I-” 

“Meanin’ nothin’ whatever,” interrupted Mrs. 
Haight, a touch of color in her voice. “ My soul! I 
never see such a touchy pair. Mebbe I’m hasty 
spoken. Considerin’ everythin’, I guess I got a right 
to be. A while back before we took out the plank I 
happened to mention that yuh was the only one in 
the outfit beside myself that knew about it. I ain’t 
suspectin’ yuh no more than anybody else in this 
room. We’re all in the same boat, yuh might say. 
That gold was here day before yesterday at three in 
the afternoon. It’s gone now. There’s been some¬ 
body around the house the whole blessed time — 
mostly two or three. Why, Pat sleeps on this same 
identical sofa every night of his life, almost. If any- 




242 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


body can tell me how-” 

“ What about last night? ” cut in Moran suddenly. 
“You said he hadn’t been around here since yester¬ 
day afternoon.” 

She glanced at him, her eyes narrowing. “That’s 
true.” She nodded thoughtfully. “He wasn’t here 
last night. I wonder— Yuh haven’t seen him, 
Cass?” 

Nell had straightened and was dabbing her eyes 
with a crumpled handkerchief. Barton, giving her 
shoulder a final reassuring pat, came slowly forward. 

“ I’m sorry, Mrs. Haight,” he said gently. “ It’s 
what I came to tell yuh about. I found him jest now 
in that coulee up behind the blacksmith shop.” 

Mrs. Haight stared at him, hands clenched, teeth 
gritting together. 

“ Dead?” she ripped out harshly. 

Barton nodded. “ Had been for some while.” 
“Shot?” 

“ No. From his looks I’d say he’d been poisoned. 
There was froth on his lips, an-” 

He paused as the woman turned suddenly on 
Moran. Her firm lips were quivering, but she stilled 
the tremor with a quick, impatient clutch of firm 
white teeth. The grief and fury in her eyes was 
dominated by a swiftly growing conviction. 

“Gessner!” she exclaimed. “You saw him with 
the dog last night. I thought it was funny at the 
time. He hasn’t ever—” Her glance swept back 





The Vanished Watcher 


243 


o Barton. “ Has he come back yet? ” 

“ Who ? Art ? Hasn’t shown up that I know of.” 
“He won’t!” she stated with conviction. “My 
-ord! I must be losin* my grip, swallowin’ that yarn 
ibout a toothache, an’ his havin’ to go to Fanning to 

jet it fixed. An’ all the time the dirty beast was-” 

“What d’yuh mean, Fanning?” interrupted Bar¬ 
on, his expression suddenly alert and keen. “He 
vent to Hatchet. Pink met him down at the east 
md of the valley, an’ Art said he was goin’ to 
rdatchet to get some braces yuh wanted for the chuck 
vagon.” 




CHAPTER XXXV 


SUSPICION 


OR the first time words seemed to fail the sturdy 



Jl owner of Bar S. Her lips parted and closed 
again; her glance swept past the other faces to rest 
with a curious momentary helpless questioning on 
Dan Moran’s. 

“ Now we’re gettin’ down to something,” remarked 
the latter slowly. “ I had an idea Hatchet would pop 
up before we’d gone far.” 

Mrs. Haight stared. “ What! Yuh mean to say 
yuh don’t think Gessner stole it?” 

“ I wouldn’t say that, but I’m awful shore he didn’t 
get away with it alone. He couldn’t tote half that 
weight or bulk without showin’ it. When Pink saw 
him did he have a bundle, or his war sack, or anything 
like that, Cass?” 

“ Yuh got me,” returned Barton. “ I’d say not, 
though, or Pink would of noticed it. There ain’t 
much gets away from him. How heavy was it?” 

“Around a hundred an’ fifty pounds.” 

“Whew! Why, that roan couldn’t carry the half 
of it, an’ Art, too, without showin’ it.” 

Moran nodded. “ That’s what I thought. We’ll 
get hold o’ Pink later an’ make shore.” He glanced 
at Mrs. Haight. “What about this fellah, ma’am? 
Any reason to think he’s friendly with Orms Asher? ” 


244 


Suspicion 


245 


44 1 shore haven’t, or he wouldn’t ’a’ set foot on the 
Bar S. He come from the Box Cross about four 
months ago — or so he said. I had a mind to write 
Griffith about him, but he turned out such a first class 
cow wrastler it didn’t seem worth while. How about 
it, Cass? Come to think, yuh never did get real 
pleased with him personally. That’s where yuh 
showed yore good sense!” She ended with a faint 
growl. 

Barton shrugged his shoulders. 44 1 dunno’s I got 
anythin’ special against him,” he returned. “He’s 
pleasant enough an’ all that, only every now an’ then 
he pulls somethin’ that makes me feel he ain’t to be 
trusted. Likely enough I jest don’t happen to fancy 
him.” 

“ Huh. It’s the little tumbleweed shows how the 
wind blows,” opined Mrs. Haight. “What’s yore 
idea, Dan? Yuh think Asher put him up to it?” 

44 Somethin’ o’ that sort. Asher knows well enough 
what we was doin’ back there in the hills, an’ if he 
was a friend o’ Gessner, likely the fellah told him 
about the load I brought in. It wouldn’t need much 
persuadin’ to get him to poison the dog, an’ without 
Pat to raise a rumpus anybody could sneak in here 
at nighttime when yuh was all asleep an’ turn the 
trick. He was promised a rakeoff, o’ course-” 

“ But how’d he know anythin’ about the loose 
board?” cut in Mrs. Haight. “He ain’t hardly set 
foot in this room since he hit the ranch.” 




246 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Moran glanced at her. “ Where was he when we 
opened it up day before yesterday? ” he asked quietly. 

Mrs. Haight stared. “ Why, out in the west pas¬ 
ture with the rest of ’em, pickin’ out three-year-olds 
for that shipment I’m gonna make. I made shore 
they was all outa the way before-” 

“Not him, ma’am,” cut in Barton swiftly. “All 
mornin’ he was bellyachin’ around about that ulcer¬ 
ated tooth o’ his, an’ when we went back after dinner 
I left him groanin’ in his bunk.” 

Mrs. Haight’s emotions were violently churned. 
“ My — Lord! ” she gasped. Her keen glance raked 
the three unshuttered windows ranged along one side 
of the living room, and her jaw sagged. “ The spyin’, 
two-faced polecat!” she raged. “Takin’ it all in 
through one o’ them winders, an’ not a soul around 
outside to bother him. An’ when he sneaks in here 
at night to snitch the gold, I’m sleepin’ like a log. I 
ain’t fit to be trusted with a two-bit piece.” 

She ended with a short, hard sob of mingled anger 
and distress and her eyes filled suddenly. Shirley 
reached out and caught her hand. 

“ Don’t, please! ” she begged. “You’re not to 
blame. How could you guess — how could any of 
us — that it wasn’t as safe here as in the bank. It’s 
all that beastly Asher.” 

“You’ve said it!” agreed Moran emphatically. 
“ It’s my opinion he planned the whole dirty business. 
More’n likely he an’ some o’ his gang were waitin’ 




Suspicion 


247 


outside for the stuff to be handed through the win¬ 
dow. I’ll bet my last cent he’s got it stowed away 
in his safe this very minute. I’m so almighty shore 
of it I’m gonna fan it down to Hatchet an’ do some 
scoutin’ ’round that burg.” 

For an instant no one spoke. Mrs. Haight looked 
surprised; the colonel dubious. Shirley tried in vain 
to suppress the terror which leaped suddenly into her 
wide eyes. 

“Oh, Dan!” she protested unsteadily. “That 
man— The whole town’s with him. You-” 

Moran looked at her steadily, a little whimsical 
twinkle in his eyes was somewhat belied by the firm, 
hard line of jaw and chin. 

“ Yuh wouldn’t like to have me sit back an’ let him 
put across a deal like this, would yuh?” he asked 
gently. 

Shirley flushed. “N — o, perhaps not. But alone! 
Why, you wouldn’t have a chance with all 
those-” 

“He ain’t goin’ alone,” suddenly put in Cass Bar¬ 
ton. “ I’m stringin’ my chips with his — if he wants 
me, that is.” 

Moran’s face brightened and he cast an apprecia¬ 
tive glance at the sturdy young cow man. 

“ I shore do,” he returned promptly. “ Yo’re jest 
the fellah I’d a picked out for a jaunt like this. 
Listen, folks,” His tone was general, but his eyes 
were all for Shirley. “ I ain’t expectin’ to ride into 





248 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Hatchet with my guns out an’ hold the gang up for 
what they stole. Asher’s a whole lot too slick for 
that. An’ after all, though I’m pretty darn sure, we 
haven’t got any real proof he’s mixed up in it. We’ll 
slip into town by the back way without any fuss an’ 
feathers an’ welcomin’ bands’ an’ see what we can 
find out. It might be we could dig up enough evi¬ 
dence to convince the colonel over at Fort Ashton 
that it’s a case for federal interference.” 

“ It would have to be some evidence to get him on 
the jump,” remarked Mrs. Haight pessimistically, 
though her face had brightened considerably at the 
prospect of some action being taken. “He’s so tan¬ 
gled up with red tape it would take a tornado or 
earthquake, or some other act o’ Providence to tear 
him loose.” 

Moran grinned at her. “ Mebbe, but yuh can 
never tell. Anyhow that’s what I got in mind — to 
snoop around an’ find out all we can about the lay 
of the land. If Gessner’s hangin’ around Asher’s 
place we’ll know he’s one o’ the bunch, like we think, 
an’ there’s a lot of other facts we may root up. Then 
we can mosey back here an’ decide what sort of action 
we’re gonna take.” 



CHAPTER XXXVI 

IN THE DARK 

H ALF an hour later, after considerable bustling 
around caused by hasty saddling and the 
natching of a hurried bite of supper, the two men 
oped away from the ranch house toward the eastern 
rail leading out of Bar S Valley. It had been de- 
ided that no mention should be made to the remain- 
ng punchers of the robbery or of their errand. So 
he farewells, which were brief, had taken place in- 
loois and there were no last wavings of hands or 
[uttering handkerchiefs to draw the gaze back to 
fiat trim, comfortable homey building which sprawled 
mder the shelter of the high cliffs behind it. 

“Say, fellah,” inquired Barton suddenly. “ D’yuh 
eally mean that? ” 

Moran jerked his mind back from a delicious mem- 
>ry of slim arms tightening about his neck, a soft 
heek pressed against his own, a low, tense voice that 
nurmured cautions — and other things. 

“Huh?” he grunted. “What’s that? Mean 
vhat?” 

Barton grinned. He, too, had certain memories. 
“Why what yuh said about our jest gonna scout 
iround an’ see what we can find out, without takin’ 
iny action? ” 

Dan’s eyes twinkled. “Why, shore,” he drawled. 
249 



250 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“ Yuh don’t think I’d deceive a parcel o’ wimmin, do 
yuh, Cass? O’ course,” he added reflectively, “if a 
chance come up of gettin’ square easylike with Asher 
or Gessner, or havin’ that gold sorta poked at us, 
yuh might say, I dunno’s I’d turn it down. But natu¬ 
rally I ain’t settin’ out to run no risks.” 

Barton’s grin widened. “Oh, no; o’ course not! a 
he chuckled. “You wouldn’t, naturally. Waal, seein’ 
as how we want to make Hatchet before the whole 
population hits the hay, we better kick some more 
speed out o’ these here bone-racks we’re straddlin’, 
huh? ” 

Moran was riding his big bay, while Barton had 
picked out a roan of equally inconspicuous color, but 
with plenty of speed and endurance. Both horses 
were fresh and when they had climbed out of the val¬ 
ley they swung along the twisting Hatchet trail at a 
steady, regular pace which ate up the miles with 
agreeable rapidity. 

Keeping a sharp lookout ahead, the two men talked 
spasmodically, planning, speculating, now and then 
falling into thoughtful silences. Though they both 
treated the venture with surface lightness, they were 
fully aware of the extreme risk and hazard of ven¬ 
turing within reach of Ormsby Asher, whose adher¬ 
ents they had so lately set by the ears, and whose 
attitude toward them was one of a cold, deadly rage 
and bitter hatred. They would have to use the great¬ 
est caution, for both were well known in Hatchet and 



In the Dark 


251 


a single glimpse of their faces would be enough, as 
Barton succinctly put it, “to start hell a-boilin’.” 

Back of them the sun dropped below the jagged 
western skyline, gilding for a space the peaks and 
forest-covered slopes with crimson glow. Slowly 
this paled and faded before the creeping shadows of 
the coming dusk. One by one the stars shone forth 
gathering strength and brilliancy as the daylight 
waned, until at last the trail was illumined only by 
their soft radiance. 

Hatchet hugged a bend of the Snake River, its 
wide main street more or less paralleling the curve 
of the placid stream. Strung along this thoroughfare 
in a straggling line of log and rough timber structures, 
with here and there a more pretentious false front 
of boards or corrugated iron, divers saloons, a dance 
hall, hotel, general store and several other public 
buildings rubbed elbows with the residences of the 
permanent inhabitants. Like many another hopeful 
settlement side streets had been laid out and euphoni¬ 
ously christened, but these had not proved popular 
for residential purposes. There was a distinct pref¬ 
erence for locating in the midst of things where a 
glance out of a front window would at once reveal 
the cause of any sudden turmoil which might — and 
often did— shatter the placidity of the town. Thus, 
the space in the rear of the various buildings was 
given up to corrals, barns and sheds. Beyond these 
lay an encompassing circle of tin cans, broken bottles 



252 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


and other rubbish which reached to the margin of the 
partly cleared forest straggling down from the hills. 
Fully aware of these conditions, Moran and Barton 
left the trail about a mile from the outskirts of the 
town and made a wide circle which ended in a grove 
of young tamaracks somewhere in the rear of Ormsby 
Asher’s combined dance hall, saloon and gambling 
place. 

The latter was evidently in full operation. A row 
of lights, partly obscured by the dark bulk of some 
intervening sheds, twinkled through the gloom, and 
the tiny, tinkling notes of an ancient piano were 
wafted to them through the still night air. 

“ Blondy ticklin’ the ivories,” commented Barton 
as they dismounted and tied their horses. “That 
boy’s fingers are shore some agile.” 

“Uh-huh.” Moran walked out to the edge of the 
trees and peered around. “ We wanta take particular 
notice where we’ve left these here cayuses in case we 
want ’em in a hurry. That’s Asher’s barn, ain’t it, 
straight ahead?” 

“Looks like it. We can make sure when we get 
over there.” 

Picking their way carefully across the belt of tin 
cans and other rubbish, the two approached the dark 
bulk of a building looming up out of the shadows. 
As Moran had expected, it proved to be the well- 
built, moderately commodious barn standing in the 
rear of Asher’s dance hall, and attached to it on one 



In the Dark 


253 


side was a stout corral containing several horses. 

Unwilling to risk startling the animals by climbing 
the bars and crossing the corral, the two men turned 
in the other direction and circling the barn, cautiously 
crossed the open space beyond to halt in the shelter 
of a wagon standing about ten feet from one of the 
lighted windows. 

For a minute or two they remained motionless 
watching the heads which bobbed past the open win¬ 
dow. Then Dan, giving his companion’s arm a gen¬ 
tle pinch, fumbled for the wagon step and drew him¬ 
self noiselessly up on the seat. 

Crouching here he had an excellent view of the 
long, smoke-filled room which as usual on such occa¬ 
sions was well filled. Perhaps a dozen couples were 
dancing to the rhythmic air which Blondy Jessup 
coaxed from the ancient discolored ivory keys of the 
old square piano, but the bulk of the crowd was 
gathered around the bar at one end. Amongst them 
Moran recognized Jed Zeek, Timmons, who kept the 
store, Cliff Trexler, Asher’s foreman, and several of 
his men. His lips curled grimly as he noted the 
plump, pendulous face of Judge Cawley, whom he 
had last seen, bound and gagged and apoplectically 
helpless, on that wooded ridge back of Asher’s de¬ 
serted line camp. Of Asher himself there was no 
sign nor, at first, did he observe Art Gessner. In¬ 
deed, until the latter moved suddenly into his line of 
vision, Dan had a notion that the two might be con- 



254 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


ferring in private regarding the disposition of the 
stolen gold. As he studied the clean-cut tanned face, 
brown eyes set wide apart, lips parted in an infec¬ 
tious grin, Moran’s own face hardened. In his brief 
intercourse with the Bar S cow man he had sized the 
fellow up as a decent, all-around good sport, inclined 
at times, indeed, to be more than ordinarily agree¬ 
able. 

“ Which shows how easy it is to bark up the wrong 
tree,” he reflected grimly. “After this, I’m likely to 
be suspicious of these awful pleasant guys. I wonder 
if Orms is in his private room?” 

The silent question had barely passed through his 
mind when of a sudden he heard the sound of a door 
opening. No broad shaft of light streamed out into 
the back premises, but without an instant’s hesitation 
Dan slid noiselessly into the bottom of t^ie wagon 
and with infinite caution stretched his long length 
across the boards. At the same moment he was 
aware of Barton’s head silently disappearing from 
beside him. 

The door closed gently with a barely audible click 
of the latch, and soft footsteps moved gently across 
the yard. Moran dared not lift his head over the 
side of the wagon body, but there was really no need 
of that. His hearing was acute enough to tell him 
that two persons had emerged from the door leading 
out of the narrow back hall of Asher’s building and 
that they were heading directly toward the wagon. 



CHAPTER XXXVII 

EAVESDROPPERS 

D AN had barely time to drag his hat down over 
his face when two vague shadows loomed out 
of the gloom and the wagon body quivered slightly 
as one of the men leaned against it. 

“ Well? ” questioned a voice with a slightly peevish 
undercurrent. “ What’s up now? You ain’t drug me 
outa that game jest to look at the pretty stars, I 
expect. I thought that run o’ luck I was havin’ was 
too good to last.” 

It was Foss McCoy who spoke. There was no 
immediate reply, but Moran felt a sudden chill flick¬ 
ering on his spine as he observed from under the 
dragged-down hatbrim the second figure moving 
rapidly around the wagon. His muscles tensed, his 
right hand slid noiselessly down along his thigh as 
he awaited breathlessly the fireworks which would 
herald the discovery of Barton. But nothing hap¬ 
pened. The vague shape completed its circuit of the 
wagon without pause, and Moran, realizing—as he 
told himself he should have done before — that Cass 
had naturally slipped beneath the vehicle, relaxed in 
a gentle dew of perspiration. 

“That feller’s got to be taken care of,” stated 
Asher abruptly, his chill, low voice cutting the silence 
distinctly. “He’s getting troublesome.” 

255 


256 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“Who? Gessner, yuh mean?” 

“Who else would I mean?” impatiently. “He 
wants half of it — half, you understand. And he’d 
like to have it handed out tomorrow mornin’.” 

“ Half? Huh! He don’t want much, an’ that’s a 
fact, the fish-faced ape. Still an’ all, yuh should 
worry. He can’t get it outa yore safe without — 
Hell’s bells! What d’yuh think my arm’s made of — 
cast iron?” 

“No, but your head sure is. What d’you mean 
blattin’ around like that with the windows all open. 
Didja think I came all the way out here to get the 
air, or listen to an oration.” 

“Shucks!” grunted McCoy. “Nobody in there 
can hear us. They’re all too busy-” 

“ Cut it,” advised Asher in a low, chilly tone. 
“You’ve been absorbin’ too many slugs of redeye. 
From now on I’ll do the talkin’, an’ just remember 
I ain’t askin’ for suggestion or advice—I’m tellin’ 
you. Get that?” 

“Aw right; aw right,” growled McCoy sullenly. 
“Go ahead an’ shoot.” 

“ I want him got rid of,” explained Asher in a low, 
curt tone. “ If he’d been content with a regular 
share like the rest, it would have been all right. He 
was useful in a small way nosin’ out where they’d hid 
it an’ passin’ it out to us. But nobody’s goin’ to 
run a blazer like this on me an’ get away with it.” 

“O — h! Yuh want me to bump him off?” 




Eavesdroppers 


257 


McCoy’s manner suddenly became keen and intent, 
and eminently sober. Under his lowered hatbrim 
Moran saw him glance abruptly at his companion. 
“ I didn’t know that was yore idea.” 

44 It’s the best and easiest way. I ain’t sayin’ he 
can do us any real harm, but you never know. 
Wantin’ to hog it like he does, he’ll be growlin’ an’ 
grouchin’ around like a bear with a sore ear no mat¬ 
ter what he got, an’ I ain’t goin’ to stand for it — 
not any! Besides, with him out of the runnin’, 
there’ll be that much more for the rest of us.” 

“Uh-huh,” McCoy murmured absently. “How 
do you want me to pull it off?” 

“ That’s up to you,” returned Asher coolly. “ Get 
him playin’ draw poker an’ make out he’s dealin’ him¬ 
self cards from the bottom of the pack. Pretend 
you’re stewed, an’ pick a fuss. There’s lots o’ ways. 
Only don’t pull anythin’ too raw, though of course 
Cawley or Lindstrom won’t touch you. All I want 
is to get rid of him by tomorrow noon, say.” 

“If I work it good do I get his share too?” 
inquired McCoy. 

Asher snorted. “ I guess likely! I guess you will 

— not! It’ll be divided up like the rest. 

Don’t forget, now; by noon tomorrow. If he comes 
yammerin’ around again, I’ll put him off ’till after 
dinner. Better wait here about five minutes an’ come 
in by the front way.” 

McCoy mumbled a curt acquiescence, and without 



258 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


further comment Asher moved swiftly away through 
the darkness. Presently a latch clicked, a door closed 
gently, and a moment or so later a light sprang up in 
one of the windows to the left of the back hall — a 
window in Asher’s private office. 

“ Divided! ” sneered McCoy in a bitter, venomous 
whisper. “Like the rest! Yes, he said a mouthful. 
He gloms nine parts an’ lets us divvy one. By Gawd! 
One o’ these days-” 

The whisper ceased and presently the man moved 
slowly away from the wagon toward the farther cor¬ 
ner of the dance hall. Raising his head cautiously, 
Moran watched the blurred shape melt into the gloom 
and disappear. After waiting several minutes longer, 
he slid along the body of the wagon and swung him¬ 
self lightly over the tail-board. 

“ County’s clear, Cass,” he whispered. 

Barton crawled out and joined him, and the two 
at once retired to denser shadows that bulked around 
the barn. 

“ I like to choke to death shuttin’ off a sneeze,” 
Barton commented in a guarded tone, “ but it shore 
was worth it. Asher’s got that bunch o’ his trained 
fine, ain’t he? Makes ’em do all the dirty work 
while he sits back nice an’ easy an’ safe. You’d think 
sooner or later one of ’em would go on the prod an’ 
crown him.” 

“Trust him to look out for that,” shrugged 
Moran. “ Most o’ those fellahs he’s got just where 




Eavesdroppers 


259 


he wants ’em, an’ he owns the county. If one of ’em 
rubbed him out you’d see Lindstrom an’ Russell an’ 
Judge Cawley doin’ handsprings to catch the guilty 
man. Also, yuh gotta remember, kid, that while 
Orms uses that bunch to pull his hot chestnuts outa 
the fire, it’s him that shows ’em where said chestnuts 
are an’ tells ’em how to do the trick without more’n 
scorchin’ their fingers. O’ course ninety per cent does 
seem a mite raw, but yuh gotta allow for Foss exag¬ 
geratin’ some; he always does when he’s ribbed up. 
So little Artie’s gonna be canned. Well, I can’t say 
I’ll shed any tears over that.” 

“Me, neither, the polecat! I only wisht— Say, 
where yuh goin’ now?” 

“ I wanta take a little peek into Asher’s boodoir,” 
returned Moran in the same cautious undertone. 
“ Looks to me like that window shade had a tear at 
the bottom. It won’t hurt to give the place the once¬ 
over.” 

The lighted window was in a one-story wing which 
thrust out from the main building in the direction of 
Bill Timmons’ store, leaving barely room enough for 
a narrow, dark passageway between the two. 
Though the chances were slight for anyone making 
use of this passage at such a time, Moran knew it 
wasn’t impossible and took the precaution of making 
a brief investigation before proceeding on to their 
goal. 

On reaching the window of Asher’s office they 



260 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


found, as Dan had guessed, that though the shade 
was drawn and the sash down, there was a slit some 
six inches long in the bottom of the former. It was 
a narrow crack through which only a limited section 
of the room could be seen — a table on which stood 
the lighted lamp, two chairs, and standing against 
the further wall a fair-sized combination safe, the 
door of which was closed. Asher himself, cigar 
tucked in one corner of his mouth, was seated at the 
table writing. 

For a moment or two Moran studied the cold, 
narrow, hatchet face, immobile and expressionless 
even when the man must feel himself unobserved. 
Then his glance shifted to the safe and rested there 
for a rather longer period. Finally he gave place 
to Barton, and when Cass presently drew aside, he 
peered intently through the torn shade again. At 
last he straightened and moved cautiously away, a 
troubled, baffled expression in his eyes. 

“ Pm afraid there ain’t a chance in the world of 
that,” he commented absently, when they had 
returned to the neighborhood of the barn again. 

“ Chance o’ what? Openin’ the safe, yuh mean?” 
asked Barton. 

“ Of makin’ Asher open it. While I was peekin’ in 
there the idea came to me that if we could get Asher 
alone an’ stick a gun to his head, we might— But I 
expect it ain’t practical.” 

“Hardly,” agreed Barton. “To begin with we’d 



Eavesdroppers 


261 


have to get him alone, which would be some job. 
Orms is too foxy to take many chances. What’s 
more, if Fve sized him up right, he’s so thunderin’ 
hard an’ stubborn that I don’t believe even a loaded 
six-gun poked against his innerds would make him 
give up the combination.” 

“ Yeah,” nodded Moran. “ That’s what I thought, 
too. He ain’t the kind yuh can throw a scare into. 
Well-” 

His voice trailed off into silence and for a space 
he leaned against the barn staring blankly off into the 
darkness. After a while he took out tobacco sack 
and papers and absently rolled himself a cigarette. 
He had a match in his hand and was on the point 
of striking it, when he seemed to realize what he was 
doing and with a grunt thrust it back into his pocket. 
Presently his roving glance fastened on a window in 
the rear of Timmons’ store through which a faint 
light had just become visible. 

“ Bill must be takin’ a last look around before 
lockin’ up,” he commented. 

Still he continued to stare thoughtfully at that 
dingy, yellow square until suddenly his shoulders 
straightened. 

“ Great snakes! ” he breathed. Abruptly he 
turned on his companion. “ Say, Cass,” he went on 
in a low, eager whisper, “what d’yuh know about 
dynamite?” 




CHAPTER XXXVIII 

FOOTSTEPS 


B ARTON stared. “ Dynamite?” he repeated. 
“What d’yuh mean?” 

“Do yuh know how to handle it?” 

“ Shore. I worked with a couple o’ miners one 
season four, five years ago over back o’ Thunder 
Creek. Yuh gotta have a detonator an’ fuse, o’ 
course, an’— Blue blazes! Yuh ain’t thinkin’ o’ 
blowin’ open that safe?” 

“ That was in my mind. Think it could be done ? ” 
Barton hesitated for a moment. “ It might,” he 
returned slowly. “ It would be a whole lot different 
from blowin’ up a mess o’ rock, but still— Where’d 
we get the dynamite an’ all, though.” 

Moran jerked his head toward the dimly lighted 
window of the general store. “Timmons,” he re¬ 
turned. “ He must keep a stock of it for prospectors, 
don’t yuh guess?” 

“ Shore he does,” stated Barton, struck by a sudden 
recollection. “ I don’t know why I didn’t think of 
it right off. It’s in that little shed at the back of his 
lot, along with the blastin’ powder. I reckon we can 
pry the lock off the door all right, ’cause o’ course 
we’d have to snitch it.” 

Moran nodded. “Yeah. It won’t do to show 
ourselves to anybody in this burg tonight. Still an’ 


Footsteps 


263 


all, we could leave money to pay for it in the shed 
so’s they won’t have anythin’ on us afterward. It 
may seem a crazy idea, but it’s about the only chance 
we got that I see,” he went on. “ Yuh know as well 
as I do that we might as well expect to grow wings 
an’ fly over this barn as to hope to do anythin’ 
through the law. Asher’s got the county sewed up 
tight, an’ as Mrs. Haight says, that fellah over at 
the fort wouldn’t put his oar in on a thing like this. 
Whatever’s done, we gotta do ourselves, an’ we gotta 
do it quick. We know that gold’s in the safe tonight, 
but any time Orms may take it into his head to shift 
it some’rs else. He must have a bank or two some 
place where he soaks away his profits.” 

“Shore,” agreed Barton. “Well, I’m willin’ to 
take a chance if you are. Only trouble is the amount 
o’ the stuff we may have to use to do any good is 
likely to blow the whole room apart.” 

“ So’s it opens the safe, we should worry. I 
wouldn’t mind givin’ that bunch a good shake-up; 
mebbe they wouldn’t be so quick, then, to take after 
us. We can bring the cayuses up closer so we won’t 
ose any time gettin’ off. O’ course we’ll have to wait 
:ill two or three o’clock when everybody’s asleep.” 

Squatting on their heels with backs against the 
arn, they continued for some time to discuss the 
; roject from every angle. Very shortly the light in 
"imrnons’ store went out, and soon afterward the 
indow of Asher’s office was abruptly darkened. 




264 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Now and again the clatter of hoofs sounded out on 
the main street, increased to a pattering drum as some 
cow-puncher set out for a distant ranch, and died 
finally away in the distance. Occasionally the 
muffled murmur of voices drifted back to where they 
sat; once or twice they heard the slam of a house 
door. 

But it was a long time before the intermittent 
tinkle of the piano ceased, the hum of voices in the 
dance hall lessened, lights grew dim, windows were 
slammed down and darkness finally enfolded the 
building. Retiring to the back of the barn where 
he could get a light without risk of being seen, Moran 
discovered that it was a little after twelve. 

For another hour the two waited. Then, after a 
brief consultation, they made their way cautiously 
over to Timmons’ lot, crept through the wire fence 
and approached the small log structure which was 
set well back from the store and clear of any other 
buildings. 

This was square in shape and with no other open¬ 
ing save a stout door of planks. Not daring to risk 
using his pocket flashlight, Dan felt over the surface 
and discovered that it was fastened by a heavy hasp 
and ponderous padlock. Further investigation dis¬ 
closed the hinges screwed on the outside. 

“A cinch,” he whispered, fumbling in his pocket. 
“ I got a screw driver in my knife. Funny, ain’t it, 
how folks’ll lock up a door with a padlock yuh 



Footsteps 


265 


couldn’t hardly break with a sledge hammer, an’ yet 
have the kind of hinges a fellah can take off with 
five minutes’ easy work.” 

In less time than that, indeed, the screws were out 
and the door dragged open sufficiently to admit them 
into the storehouse. When the opening had been 
carefully closed behind them, Moran flashed his light 
around the small interior. 

Neither of them had ever been inside the place 
before, and it took some time to locate what they 
w r ere after. It was an even longer space before Cass 
had combined the sticks of dynamite, fuse, and 
detonator caps into what promised to be an extremely 
effective bomb. 

“Trouble is,” he confessed, when the work was 
finished to his satisfaction. “ I ain’t none too sure 
jest how powerful the darn thing’s gonna be. It may 
lift the roof off, so we don’t wanta hang around too 
close after the fuse is lit.” 

Moran grinned. “ Don’t worry. Me, personal, I 
ain’t ready for an ascension yet a-while. We’ll stick 
off with the hosses ’till the air settles, an’ then jump 
in an’ grab what we can before the bunch comes 
a-runnin’.” 

With extreme caution the explosive was carried out 
and deposited in a dark corner back of the store, 
just across the alley from Asher’s office. It was now 
nearly two, and the deep, slumberous silence which 
lay over the town was broken only by the intermittent, 



266 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


querulous barking of a dog from far out along the 
eastward trail leading to the Gap. After a brief, 
whispered consultation, the two men decided that it 
was time to fetch the horses. 

To lead these across that encompassing circle of 
rubbish was a slow and difficult business. More than 
once the touch of a hoof against a tin can produced a 
clatter which seemed to the somewhat tense nerves 
of both men enough to wake the soundest sleeper. 
But apparently no one was disturbed, and at length 
the animals were tied to a rail of the corral and 
Moran and his companion softly crossed the open 
space toward the house. 

To Dan the realization that the crucial moment of 
their venture was at hand brought relief and thank¬ 
fulness. The tedious, uneasy hours of waiting, of 
which he was heartily weary, were nearly over and 
very soon they would know the worst. At no time 
had the thought of personal risk entered into his 
doubts and fears. As a matter of fact he would have 
rather welcomed a clash with the detested Asher or 
Art Gessner. What worried him was the feeling 
that they were risking in a single throw the colonel’s 
hard-won treasure. Considering Barton’s somewhat 
sketchy knowledge of explosives, it was more than 
possible that he had used too much dynamite, or too 
little, and either extreme would be fatal to their 
plans. For an insufficient charge would rouse the 
town as quickly as a large one, and what would it 



Footsteps 


267 


avail them to have the safe so shattered that the gold 
bags would be burst asunder and their contents scat¬ 
tered far and wide? Knowing Asher, he was too 
well assured that if they failed now they would never 
have another chance. It was small wonder, there¬ 
fore, that his outward composure hid keyed-up nerves 
and a suppressed but passionate desire to have it over 
— swiftly. 

The explosive was first removed from the rear of 
Timmons’ store and placed against the wall of 
Asher’s house about ten feet from the window. The 
latter reached to within about three feet of the 
ground, and when Dan mounted on Barton’s back to 
investigate, he discovered that it was fastened by the 
most ordinary of catches. Green lumber combined 
with careless workmanship had resulted in a gap be¬ 
tween the two sashes of at least a quarter of an inch 
which made the thrusting back of the catch with 
Moran’s knife blade a matter of extreme simplicity. 
It was so easy, indeed, that as he stepped to the 
ground again Dan wondered caustically why Asher 
ever took the trouble to lock the thing at all. 

Barton straightened up, and Moran, pocketing his 
knife, lifted one hand to raise the lower sash. Evi¬ 
dently it had not been opened lately, for it seemed 
to resist a little his cautious pressure. Remembering 
this afterward, Dan was struck with wonder at the 
slight, tenuous nature of the thing which had such a 
tremendous influence on their fortunes. If that win- 



268 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


dow had yielded readily, rising with a slight natural 
creak or scrape which might have been heard by a 
wakeful person twenty feet or so away, the whole 
subsequent sequence of events would have been 
changed. As it was, it stuck, and Moran’s muscles 
were tensing for a stronger effort — yet one which 
would not send the sash up with a bang — when sud¬ 
denly Barton gripped his arm and held it forcibly 
motionless. 

An instant later there came faintly to him the 
sound of cautious footfalls approaching from the 
right. 



CHAPTER XXXIX 

LUCK AND MISCHANCE 

T HERE was no time to slip around the corner — 
scarcely enough, in fact, for them to flatten them¬ 
selves against the wall to the left of the window. 
The footsteps came on steadily, with that same quiet 
stealthiness which had made their first impression 
even on Barton’s sharp ears the merest piece of luck. 
Who could it be? And what was he doing here at 
such an hour? 

Listening with bated breath, eyes striving to pene¬ 
trate the shadows, Moran waited motionless, every 
nerve and muscle tense. From the sounds he judged 
that the unknown was headed almost directly toward 
them. He wondered how far off they could be seen 
and then, suddenly, a possibility at once grotesque 
and hair-raising stabbed through him. Suppose this 
night-prowler should stumble over the dynamite! 

Though Dan had heard of men taking extraordi¬ 
nary chances with this particular explosive and escap¬ 
ing unscathed, he was nevertheless instantly aware of 
an icy shiver on his spine, coupled with a sudden sink¬ 
ing in his stomach. Moisture broke out on his 
forehead as he thought of the impact which can be 
imparted by the smart kick of a heavy boot. Then 
all at once the faint crunch of footsteps ceased and 
out of the gloom there loomed a vague, dark shape 
269 


270 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


which paused directly opposite the rear door leading 
into the back passage that ran between the dance 
hall and Asher’s office. 

How long the man stood there motionless Dan had 
no notion. Holding his breath until he was almost 
strangled, the time seemed endless before the shadow 
slid noiselessly forward to merge into the blackness 
of the doorway. Followed presently the faintest 
click, a scarcely audible creak of ill-fitting hinges, and 
then silence. 

Simultaneously both men drew breath with the 
same sort of labored caution, though otherwise they 
did not stir. But though he did not move a muscle, 
Dan’s mind was violently, feverishly active. Though 
as yet he had no notion as to who the unknown 
might be, he had guessed, in a single illuminating 
second, the fellow’s purpose. What other explana¬ 
tion was there for this secret, silent, stealthy en¬ 
trance? What other motive could bring a man to 
Ormsby Asher’s house in such a manner and at such 
an hour? 

Carefully turning his body, Moran thrust one foot 
forward. He took another cautious step, and, steady¬ 
ing himself against the window-ledge, peered through 
the slit in the bottom of the drawn shade. 

For a space he saw nothing. The room within was 
plunged in an impenetrable gloom. He waited, still 
straining his eyes, but not the faintest spark of light 
came to relieve the blackness. Presently he began to 



Luck and Mischance 


271 


grow impatient, to wonder if he could possibly be 
mistaken. Back of him toward the corral a horse 
moved restlessly, bringing a quick frown to his alert, 
tense face. Far out along the eastern trail the dog, 
which for a long time had been silent, suddenly gave 
tongue in that shrill, staccato fashion dogs have when 
they wake suddenly to some fancied danger of the 
darkness. At the unexpected sound Moran’s shoul¬ 
ders twitched. Then all at once he froze, his whole 
being instantly concentrated on that narrow crevice at 
the bottom of the window blind. 

Within the room a little glow of light had suddenly 
sprung up, so carefully shaded and concentrated that 
not even a reflection of it could penetrate beyond the 
drawn blinds of Asher’s office. But from his point 
of vantage Moran easily made out the play of that 
yellow circle on the front of the safe, the shadowy 
bulk of the man crouching in front of it, the hand 
which reached out of the gloom to lay hold of the 
combination knob. 

It was a muscular hand, yet with long, vibrant, 
sensitive fingers. Something about it, coupled with 
the vague familiarity of the shadowed outline of the 
man himself, tightened Dan’s lips and made his eyes 
blaze suddenly. 

Watching with the fierce intentness of a hawk that 
has sighted its prey, Moran saw the slim fingers twirl 
the knob with a curious, unexpected expertness. Back 
and forth it moved, sometimes rapidly, more often 



272 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


with infinite deliberation, the fellow’s head bent close 
to the heavy steel door. Once or twice he gave the 
knob a rapid spin as if he were beginning all over 
again, and swiftly Dan became convinced with a feel¬ 
ing of dazed surprise that it was by no means the first 
safe the man had opened. In spite of his preoccupa¬ 
tion he found time to wonder briefly what could pos¬ 
sibly have brought such a character into this remote 
wilderness. Certainly one doesn’t as a rule find safe¬ 
crackers developing into expert cowmen. 

At all events it was soon made evident that the 
hand had not lost its cunning. The fingers were mov¬ 
ing slowly now, turning the knob space by space with 
infinite care. Presently even that crawling movement 
ceased for an instant. Then the knob was delicately 
thrust forward a space or two further. 

No sound penetrated through the closed window, 
but Moran knew as well as if he had heard it that 
at this final thrust the combination clicked. Thrilling 
with exultation and excitement, he saw the hand shift 
to the heavy nickel handle and draw the safe door 
open. The beam of light now shifted, playing around 
the interior of the safe. Dan glimpsed papers 
stacked in orderly array, a couple of account books, 
and then at the sight of the top of a plump canvas 
bag tied around the mouth with buckskin, the blood 
rushed into his face a crimson flood. Hastily turn¬ 
ing from the window he felt through the darkness 
for Barton. His fingers touched a muscular shoulder 



Luck and Mischance 


273 


and tightening his grip he drew Cass toward him until 
his lips rested lightly against his friend’s ear. 

“It’s Gessner,” he breathed. “He’s opened the 
safe! Y’understand? It’s open now. We won’t 
have to use that dynamite at all. In two shakes he’ll 
be out with two o’ them bags. He can’t carry more’n 
that at once, an’ mebbe that’s all he means to take, 
though I doubt it. Anyhow, we’ll stand one on each 
side o’ the door an’ bean him as he comes out. I’ll 
take the first crack an’ if I miss, yuh go to it. 
Get me?” 

“ I shore do,” came back in a low whisper. “ Go 
to it.” 

Swiftly, yet taking pains to make no noise, they 
slipped over to the door and took up their positions 
on either side of it, close against the house wall. 
Moran, standing to the left, drew his six-gun and 
grasping it by the barrel, held it ready in front of 
him. ’He was filled with triumph, and a keen, fierce 
exultation at the thought of how completely Art 
Gessner was going to pay for his sneaking crooked¬ 
ness and treachery. 

It was the very intensity of this emotion which 
came near to proving their undoing. For when the 
door presently opened noiselessly and the shadowy 
figure stepped forth, Dan smote with a swift, savage 
eagerness which neglected to take count of the six- 
inch step on which the fellow stood. Instead of strik¬ 
ing his head as he intended, the heavy weapon 



274 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


crashed down on Gessner’s shoulder and flung him 
violently against the farther door post. 

A hoarse cry of pain and surprise shattered the 
brooding stillness of the night. There was a thud of 
something heavy falling, and swift upon the heels of 
that another very different sounding thud. At Bar¬ 
ton’s well-aimed blow, Gessner sagged at the knees 
and without a sound fell face downward to lie at their 
feet a motionless, huddled heap. 

Furious at his own carelessness, Moran yet wasted 
not an instant in self-recriminations. 

“ Grab the bags,” he told Barton swiftly holstering 
his weapon. “He’s dropped ’em. Get over to the 
hosses an’ untie ’em. I’m going in for the other 
two.” 

Without waiting for a reply he dashed into the 
hallway, pulling out his pocket flashlight as he went. 
Whirling swiftly to the left, he darted through the 
door of Asher’s office and over to the safe which 
was still open. It took but a moment to snatch up 
the two remaining bags of gold and depart. But as 
he flung out of the door and sped toward the corral, 
hampered not a little by the weight he carried, there 
came to him unmistakable sounds and signs which 
betokened the complete awakening of Asher’s estab¬ 
lishment. 

Lights flared up in several windows; voices, hoarse 
or shrill, profanely demanded the reason for the dis¬ 
turbance. Men appeared in one or two of the upper 




Luck and Mischance 


275 


rooms. As Moran reached the corral to find Barton 
mounted and holding the bay’s bridle, a sudden angry 
shout came from the direction of the house, followed 
swiftly by a shot. 

“ Quick! ” urged Barton, as the bullet whined past 
them to bury itself in a post. “ The whole bunch’ll 
cut down on us in a minute.” 

Moran made no answer. He had been carrying 
a heavy bag of nuggets in each hand. Now, hurriedly 
thrusting one under his left arm, he found the stirrup 
and with a heave and a grunt flung himself into the 
saddle. He had barely time to snatch the reins be¬ 
fore the snorting bay shot forward with a jerk which 
would have unseated any less practiced rider. But 
Dan, clinging with his thighs, managed to find the 
other stirrup and followed Barton around the corner 
of the dance hall into a lane which lay between it 
and Jed Zeek’s hotel. 

They were pursued by a rattling fire of pistol shots, 
all of which — though some came perilously close — 
failed to take effect. As they swung into the main 
street and headed westward, Moran — urged by the 
pressing need of easing his cramped arm — managed 
to slide the gold bags down to rest on the saddle in 
front of him. Though he was still obliged to hold 
them in place, the relief was great and there was no 
time now to secure them more permanency. Already 
the noisy turmoil at Asher’s was rousing the town and 
at any moment they might expect to be fired at from 



276 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


the houses past which they galloped. As a matter 
of fact they were unmolested save for a pot-shot 
taken at them from an upper window of the next to 
the last house in the row. It missed Barton by a good 
foot, but it served as a warning—if any such were 
needed-—that they would do well to place a large 
space of territory between themselves and Hatchet in 
the shortest possible time. 



CHAPTER XL 

PURSUED 

A FEW hundred yards beyond the last house the 
trail turned sharply, passing between a heavy 
growth of willows that lined the river, and on the 
jther side tall, spreading cottonwoods with here and 
; here a great Douglas fir which had escaped the level* 
ng ax of earlier settlers. It was a spot of singular 
beauty, especially in the daytime when the sunlight, 
shining through the interlacing branches, dappled the 
placid stream with streaks and splashes of glinting 
gold. Now, in spite of the black shadows made by 
the great trees, one got a curious impression of peace¬ 
ful isolation — a sense that all that fierce turmoil of 
shouts and shots, which by this time had died away 
behind them, must almost have been a figment of 
imagination. Though both men were perfectly aware 
that the respite would at best be only temporary, they 
found the transformation soothing and for five min¬ 
utes or so galloped on in silence. Then Moran 
glanced sidewise at his companion. 

“When we get back to the valley, Cass,” he re¬ 
marked, “ I wish yuh’d give me a few swift kicks.” 

“Huh? Oh!” Barton grinned. “Yuh mean 
about yore not hittin’ him square.” 

“Shore! Of all the blasted idjits maltin’ a fool 
play like that!” Dan’s voice was deeply freighted 



278 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


with disgust. “ I was so Gawd awful wild to crack 
him good, I clean forgot about that step he was 
standin’ on.” 

“Was that it? Nemmine. Yuh shore gave me 
one joyful minute, I’ll tell the world! I reckon we’re 
square with Artie all right. I’d hate to be in his 
boots when Asher tackles him. Say! hadn’t yuh bet¬ 
ter pull up an’ settle them bags better? They’re 
turrible heavy to be luggin’ that away. Likewise we 
don’t want to chance one bein’ jolted off when we 
ain’t got time to stop an’ pick it up. Unless I’m a 
whole lot wrong, we ain’t seen the last of Asher an’ 
his bunch — not by a long shot.” 

“ I reckon not,” agreed Moran, pulling his horse 
down to a walk. “ Orms is a sticker, all right. Still 
an’ all, we got a pretty fair lead.” 

“Yuh don’t wanta forget these here cayuses have 
already traveled consid’able tonight,” Barton re¬ 
minded him, “ an’ likewise each one is totin’ about 
seventy-five pounds extra weight. I don’t wanta be 
no killjoy, but that’s gonna make a difference.” 

There was no denying the truth of his observation’ 
and Dan wasted no time stowing the gold into his 
saddlebags. He had scarcely finished the operation 
when from behind the pattering drum of hoofs was 
borne to them on the still night air. 

Gone instantly was that soothing sense of peaceful 
isolation. As he loosened the reins, Moran’s 
thoughts swept back to the main street of the town 



Pursued 


279 


behind them and in imagination he could see a bunch 
of wild-eyed ponies pouring out of the alleyway be¬ 
tween Asher’s place and the hotel, and rocketing 
down the trail like jackrabbits. Asher himself, 
mounted on that splendid black stallion of his, would 
be in the lead. Dan wondered if the man’s stony 
impassive face would at this juncture be showing any 
outward sign of the passion which must be consuming 
him. The clever, cold, unscrupulous boss of Hatchet 
was quite unaccustomed to being thwarted. It seemed 
as if it would be difficult for even him to remain 
unmoved under this daring raid, coming especially 
almost on the heels of that even greater humiliation 
of a few weeks before. Moran’s lips curved grimly 
as he pictured Asher’s feelings when he discovered 
Gessner’s unconscious body and realized how com¬ 
pletely he had been outwitted by the man he so calmly 
and callously planned to put out of the way. Then 
abruptly Moran’s face fell. 

“Thunder!” he muttered under his breath. 
“Like enough he’ll never know it was Gessner who 
opened the safe so slick. That fellah’s too gosh- 
darned smart not to lay it onto us, an’ make out, 
probably, that he got crowned tryin’ to stop us. I 
hadn’t thought of that.” 

But after all neither Gessner’s fate nor Asher’s 
feelings were of any special moment now. The vital 
thing was to save the treasure they had-so fortuitously 
gained possession of, and this could only be accom- 



280 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


plished by beating their pursuers to the security of 
the Bar S valley. 

To this end Moran was quickly bending every 
thought and effort. It wasn’t going to be any cinch, 
he knew. The way was long and in places the going 
hard. And as Barton had reminded him their horses 
were none too fresh. Especially on the steep slopes 
beyond the old Driscoll place that dead weight in 
the saddle-bags was going to prove no small handicap. 
But the thing must be done somehow, for not only 
was the happily recovered gold at stake, but their 
very lives hung in the balance. 

The shadowy depths of the willows and giant cot¬ 
tonwoods left behind, they sped on along the curving 
trail which for several miles paralleled the river bank. 
The going here was excellent; a comparatively level 
grade with underfoot a firm loam, not too soft, 
crossed occasionally by an outcropping of rock. Know¬ 
ing how much worse traveling lay ahead, Moran gave 
his horse rein, pulling up only at rare intervals for 
a momentary breathing spell. At each of these brief 
halts it seemed to him that the drumming thud of 
hoofs behind was just a little louder and more distinct 
than it had been the time before. Wondering if this 
might possibly be due to a too active imagination, he 
presently put the question to his companion. 

“No, they’re gainin’,” Barton responded briefly. 
“ Not much, but some. With the load we’re totin, it 
would be funny if they didn’t. I’m wonderin’-” 




Pursued 


281 


He hesitated. Dan glanced at him questioningly. 

“Yeah?” 

“What if we left the trail an’ ducked into the 
woods, say just beyond the branch that turns off 
toward Thunder Creek. Wouldn’t that mebbe throw 
’em off the track? They couldn’t tell but what we’d 
taken that branch, an’ even if they did divide up an’ 
some of ’em keep on toward the valley, they wouldn’t 
know whereabouts we’d dropped out, or where to 
begin huntin’ us along the way.” 

“ Mebbe not,” agreed Moran. “ But s’pose Asher 
should stick around the entrance to the valley like he 
did once before? He’s one Gawd awful stubborn 
cuss, an’ this particular piece o’ country is about the 
worst I know of to get out of except by the trail. 
On a hoss it ain’t possible to get through them moun¬ 
tains that back up on either side, an’ if we should 
leave the cayuses we’d have one swell chance o’ luggin’ 
that weight o’ gold forty or fifty miles through the 
wilderness.” 

“ That’s true enough. It’s sorta like the neck of a 
bottle, come to think. We can’t go sideways, an’ we 
can’t go back without passin’ through Hatchet or 
strikin’ into the wilderness across the river.” 

“ Yuh said it! O’ course the two of us could hide 
out where they wouldn’t find us in a month o’ Sundays. 
But meantime we’d have to eat, an’ I got an idea we’d 
starve to death before Asher’d give up an’ take his 
bunch home. Looks to me like our best chance was 



282 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


to stick to the trail an’ beat ’em to it.” 

Barton nodded. “ I expect yo’re right, fellah. 
That bein’ the case, we better keep these here cayuses 
movin’ rapid — anyway until we’re past that mile- 
long stretch o’ straight trail this side o’ Driscoll’s 
place. It’s beginnin’ to get light a-ready, an’ some o’ 
that bunch behind is shore to be packin’ Winchesters.” 

Moran agreed briefly but made no other comment. 
For some little time he had been aware of the slowly 
dimming stars and the faint, gradual lightening of the 
blue-black arch above them which told of the coming 
dawn. But so far the horses had shown no noticeable 
signs of fatigue, and with the dangerous open stretch 
less than three miles ahead, he felt confident they 
could pass it safely before the light would be strong 
enough for accurate shooting. 

His confidence proved well-founded. As they 
thudded past the empty house, its gaunt, ghostly out¬ 
lines were just emerging from the thinning shadows 
that faded slowly before the cold gray of approaching 
dawn. Though the clatter of pursuing hoofs was 
clear enough, a backward glance showed no sign of 
movement on the visible portion of the straight, level 
trail stretching out behind them. 

Swerving around a clump of cedars, the two 
pushed on toward the fork, and presently reaching 
it, took the left hand branch. A little further on 
this left the lowlands about the river and began its 
toilsome, tortuous upward climb toward the rocky 



Pursued 


283 


pass lying between the mountains. 

It was hereabouts that Barton’s horse began to 
show the strain. Before they had gone a mile he 
was breathing hard and his sides were heaving pain¬ 
fully. Moran’s powerful bay held out longer, but in 
the end he, too, began to lag. Dan would have given 
much to be able to rest the gallant beasts, but the 
sounds of pursuit, which grew clearer and more dis¬ 
tinct with every passing mile, told him that a halt of 
even five minutes would be fatal. 

One thing only was in their favor — the tortuous, 
twisting nature of the trail. Constantly curving and 
turning as it followed the erratic course of the moun¬ 
tain pass, it rarely kept to a straight course for more 
than a couple of hundred feet at a stretch. Unable to 
make any great speed, Asher’s gang was likewise 
prevented from using rifles or six-shooters with any 
effect. 

Nevertheless, it seemed to Moran that the chase 
could have but one ultimate ending. There was a 
bare chance, he felt, if their horses held out that far, 
of their reaching the rim of the valley ahead of their 
pursuers, but that was his most sanguine hope. Re¬ 
membering the precipitous descent into Bar S terri¬ 
tory, the distance of the ranch house from that end 
of the valley and the entire unpreparedness of its in¬ 
mates to come to their assistance, Dan groaned 
inwardly and cursed himself for not having prepared 
for this emergency. 




284 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Asher would make no more of following them 
onto Mrs. Haight’s property than he had of chasing 
them thus far from Hatchet. In his present state 
of mind the only bar to his thwarted fury would be 
force — the force of determined men ready and will¬ 
ing to use their weapons. The Bar S crowd was 
strong enough to at least temporarily beat back the 
gang Asher had with him, but unfortunately long 
before the sound of shots could bring them thither 
from the ranch house, all need for their aid was likely 
to be over. And yet- 

Moran’s eyes narrowed and his hand slid down to 
grip his six-shooter. Ten minutes — at the most, fif¬ 
teen— was all they needed. Provided with an even 
half way decent sort of shelter might not he and Cass 
manage to hold back the crowd for that short time? 

At least it was worth trying. Indeed, it seemed to 
be their only hope, and in swift, terse phrases he 
outlined his plan to Barton. 

“There’s nothin’ above the rim they couldn’t rush 
in two shakes,” returned the puncher quickly — 
“ nothin’, that is, that we could get to without bein’ 
downed. Only place I can think of is that big pile 
o’ rocks with cedars growin’ alongside ’em down in 
the valley at the foot o’ the slope, an’ there ain’t 
a chance in a hundred of our reachin’ that ahead of 
a bullet.” 

Dan’s lips straightened grimly. “ We gotta, that’s 
all, fellah,” he stated crisply. “ I ain’t ready to cash 




Pursued 


285 


yet, an’ I shore don’t mean to give Orms Asher 
the satisfaction of gettin’ back that gold. It ain’t a 
half mile, hardly. Can’t yuh get a mite more speed 
outa yore cayuse?” 

“ Not a smidgin’. The poor critter’s all in 
now. If I spur him, chances are he’ll drop under 
me.” 

“Well, do the best yuh can, an’ if I’m downed 
don’t yuh stop on no account. Remember what’s in 
yore saddle bags an’ beat it under cover. Likely 
enough yuh can hold ’em off ’till the boys come.” 

Barton’s expression was far from acquiescent, but 
he made no comment, and silence fell, broken only by 
the labored breathing of the exhausted horses, the 
uneven clatter of their hoofs, the ominous steady thud 
of those other hoofs so perilously close behind. 

The shadows had long since vanished and the cold 
gray sky was tinged now with a delicate soft rose. 
Through the narrow cleft between the towering 
mountains swept streamers of deeper color touched 
with gold, brightening the somber green of ragged 
pines, softening the harsh outlines of piled rocks and 
boulders. From somewhere in the forest depths the 
soft, liquid notes of a thrush soared suddenly, so 
sweet and clear and penetrating, so wholly unexpected 
and incongruous, that Dan’s face hardened and 
his hand clenched. An instant later the placid, 
smiling green of Bar S valley lay spread out before 
him. 



286 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Barton was a trifle ahead for Moran had purposely 
held back his somewhat fresher mount to give Cass 
precedence on the narrow downward track. Laying 
back on the bridle, he put the roan over the rim and 
clattered down the slope, the exhausted animal stum¬ 
bling, swaying, held up to a great extent by the rider’s 
sheer strength. Not daring to delay — he felt that at 
any moment the foremost of their pursuers would 
dash around the final turn and sight them — Dan fol¬ 
lowed hastily and the two plunged downward with 
not more than twenty feet between them. 

Not far from the foot of the slope loomed up that 
mass of piled rock and scrubby cedars which promised 
refuge and temporary safety. Dan flashed a single 
glance thither, wondering with a curious sort of cold 
composure whether or not they would ever reach it. 
Barton was half way down by this time, the roan still 
on his feet though staggering. 

Now he had covered two-thirds of the distance. 
Another sixty seconds would bring him safely to the 
bottom. 

He reached it in less time than that with Moran 
close behind. The latter was still clattering over the 
final few feet of declivity when from above there 
came abruptly the sharp crack of a rifle. A bullet 
whined past Dan’s face so close that its passing 
seemed to stir his hair. A second later came the 
sound of another shot. It struck Barton’s horse 
which crashed down with such force and abruptness 



Pursued 


287 


that the puncher was hurled bodily out of his saddle. 
Aghast, Moran saw him land against a boulder to lie 
there motionless, a crumpled heap, within a dozen 
feet of safety. 



CHAPTER XLI 


CHECK 


HERE was no time for thought or conscious 



i planning. Sheer instinct made Moran swing his 
horse around the sprawling body of the roan and 
drag him to a halt. Out of the saddle before his 
horse had ceased to move, he bent over Barton and 
with a heave of splendid arm and shoulder muscles 
caught up the unconscious puncher and flung him 
across the bay. A bullet struck his hat and carried 
it away; another plowed the ground beside him, but 
they passed almost unheeded. Reins in one hand, the 
other supporting the limp body of his friend, he 
plunged between two cedars, dragged the horse 
around an outthrust buttress and halted abruptly, 
eyes glittering, lips tightly pressed together. 

With swift gentleness he lifted Cass from the horse 
and laid him down in a sheltered corner. There was 
a cut on his head from which the blood oozed slowly, 
but apparently he was otherwise uninjured. 

“Stunned, that’s all,” Dan said aloud, in a tone of 
relief. “He’ll be around soon.” He straightened 
and glanced for an instant at the lathered bay, which 
faced him with trembling legs spread wide apart and 
red nostrils dilated. “ Good boy, Pete,” he mut¬ 
tered. “ Yo’re some li’l hoss, believe me. Nothin’s 
too good for you after this.” 


288 


Check 


289 


Then turned abruptly, he climbed into a crevice 
among the piled rocks, stepped thence to the smooth, 
slanting side of a great, cleft boulder, and dropping 
on hands and knees, snaked his way swiftly toward 
the summit. 

The feathery branches of a cedar growing up 
beyond the massive boulder effectively screened him 
from the sight of those above, yet enabled him to 
get a fairly comprehensive view of the trail leading 
into the valley and a portion of the rim. Instead of 
looking that way, however, his eager glance first 
sought the base of this rocky shelter. 

The roan lay where it had fallen, evidently quite 
dead. Apparently the force of its fall had loosened 
the saddle bag, which lay almost clear of the horse’s 
body, the edge of one of the soiled, bulging canvas 
bags showing through a ripped seam in the leather. 

Moran’s eyes glistened as he gauged its nearness 
to the base of the jumble of rocks on which he 
crouched. A person lying behind that low, outflung 
boulder below, flanked by two ragged cedars, could 
almost reach out and touch it. He wondered if it 
would be possible, by slipping through a crevice, 
masked by thick bushes over to his right, to gain that 
boulder unperceived. Then suddenly the clatter of a 
stone and a sense of movement on the sloping trail 
drew his glance swiftly thither. At the sight of the 
horsemen moving slowly and warily down the narrow 
track, his face hardened, and pulling his Colt from its 



290 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


holster, he slid the barrel over the edge of the rock 
across which his eyes were peering. 

Finger resting on the trigger, he waited for them 
to get within range. Asher’s tall, lank figure was not 
among them. Evidently the astute leader was hold¬ 
ing back while his henchmen, as usual, did the dirty 
work. Up along the rim Dan glimpsed a number of 
figures scattered through the rocks and guessed 
accurately that these, armed with rifles, had been 
posted there to cover the advance. The moment he 
fired, there would be instant response. And so, when 
presently the foremost of the descending party was 
within range, he took careful aim, pulled the trigger, 
and then dropped swiftly behind his shelter. 

From the rim came an instantaneous crash of shots 
almost drowning the sharp cry of the wounded man, 
the thud of his fall, the sudden clatter of the fright¬ 
ened horse. The bullets pattered against the rock 
just over Moran’s head, clipping off sprays of cedar, 
and sending a little shower of sharp granite frag¬ 
ments flying over him. One of these seared across 
his cheek and drew blood, but Dan was heedless of 
the sting. 

“ Cass was right about some of ’em packin’ Win¬ 
chesters,” he muttered, as he slid agilely across the 
sloping rock to find another point of vantage. “ Well, 
if that racket don’t start Buck an’ the rest a-boilin’, 
I miss my guess.” 

Face flushed and eyes shining with the joy of con- 



Check 


291 


flict, he reached a slight declivity some twelve feet to 
the left, from which he managed to get in another 
hasty shot at the men on the trail before driven back 
by the concentrated rifle fire. It took effect, as Dan 
intended, on the fellow’s thigh. Disabling a man was 
just as good as killing him, and after all he felt no 
murderous animosity against these men who were 
merely forced to carry out their leader’s orders. If 
it were Asher himself, or the treacherous Gessner or 
even Foss McCoy, the situation would be different. 

Once more he repeated the maneuver and this time 
the attacking party broke and fled back to the shelter 
of the rim. It was while waiting for the next move 
that Dan noticed Barton sitting up and staring be- 
wilderedly around. He signaled Cass to stay where 
he was, and not many minutes later the thud of hoofs 
and the sight of a bunch of riders streaming toward 
them from the ranch house brought him scrambling 
hastily to the level. 

Some vigorous signaling caused them to swerve 
slightly in their course so that they approached under 
cover of the rocky shelter. Mrs. Haight was one of 
the first to dismount. As soon as she had been 
acquainted with the situation she was all for making 
a determined sally to recover the other saddlebag, but 
Moran pointed out the unnecessary hazard of such 
a move. 

“They’ve got the place well covered an’ some¬ 
body’s shore to be downed, he said. I got a better 



292 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


idea.” Briefly he outlined his plan. 

“The fellahs can string along the top o’ the rocks 
an’ keep their attention occupied while I slide down 
through that crack an’ snitch it,” he concluded. “ It’s 
about the best way I can see, an’ we oughta act quick, 
’cause mighty soon they’ll be sneakin’ along the rim 
to try an’ get us from behind.” 

“ Fly at it,” said Mrs. Haight tersely. “ You seem 
to know what yo’re about. Only don’t go takin’ no 
foolish chances. All the gold in the world ain’t wuth 
gettin’ rubbed out for.” Her big, calloused, capable 
hand rested for an instant on Moran’s shoulder. “ I 
had a job o’ work, believe me, keepin’ a certain party 
from cornin’ out with us,” she told him in a lowered 
tone. “ If I should come back an’ tell her-” 

Dan grinned and hitched up his cartridge belt. 
“Don’t worry,” he assured her. “You won’t 
have to.” 

He meant it. When the Bar S men had posted 
themselves along the top of the long, irregular ridge 
of rock and Moran crept into the crevice he had noted 
and began to worm and wriggle his way through it, 
the image of Shirley Rives was in his mind and it 
was the thought of her and of that wonderful future 
which was to be theirs together that tempered some¬ 
what his natural recklessness and daring. With that 
to live for and look forward to the lust of life was 
strong within him. He had not the least intention 
of being cut off prematurely by a bullet. And besides 




Check 


29 3 


there was the keen delight and satisfaction of thwart¬ 
ing Ormsby Asher. For the first time in his life 
Moran was almost cautious. 

At its outer edge the crevice dipped sharply. 
Edging slowly through it, Moran slid down the final 
abrupt descent to the shelter of a little thicket of 
undergrowth eked out by the trunks of two or three 
scrub cedars. The boulder beyond which lay the 
dead horse and that precious saddlebag was not more 
than ten feet away. About it spread the tufts of a 
few low bushes, but in between lay an open space, 
three or four feet wide, which gave Dan pause. 

In passing that he would present an excellent target 
to the outlaws gathered on the rim. He might, of 
course, bridge the gap by a swift leap which would 
take them by surprise, but this would concentrate 
their fire on the low boulder and make his return next 
to impossible. 

Without stirring the bushes it was impossible to 
see what Asher’s men were up to or guess the reason 
for this prolonged lull in hostilities. Some of them 
might very well be making their way along the rocky 
rim of the valley to gain a point of vantage in the 
rear, but Dan was quite certain that enough remained 
at the head of the trail to make taking chances a 
matter of extreme hazard. 

A bit of sage brush tickling his ear gave him at 
this juncture a sudden thought. His shirt was dark 
and so were the trousers tucked into the tops of high- 



294 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


heeled boots. If he moved slowly only his face would 
be visible against the shadowy background. He might 
have covered it with his hat, but this was gone, and 
so without delay he broke off a few of the green 
stalks and thrusting the ends down his collar, he lay 
flat on the ground and began to edge forward inch by 
inch. 

Though it seemed much longer, he could really 
have been scarcely more than a minute cross¬ 
ing that dangerous open space. Long legs tucked 
under him, wide shoulders cramped, he crouched be-i 
hind the low boulder, eyes fixed on the saddlebag, 
which lay there in the sunlight almost within reach 
of an outthrust hand. It was no light thing to be 
whisked back by a single, daring jerk. To reach it he 
would have to expose not only an arm and shoulder, 
but his head as well. Yet somehow the thing must be 
done, and without too much delay. 

Dan changed his position to a somewhat easier one 
and his right hand began to slip slowly forward when 
suddenly a scattering fire of shots broke the placid 
morning stillness. Moran halted abruptly and in¬ 
stinctively ducked, only to realize a second later that 
the shots were directed toward the upper portion of 
the rocky shelter, whence they were promptly and 
vigorously returned by the Bar S men. To Dan there 
seemed a spiritless quality about the firing as if its 
purpose was to distract attention from some other 
move of the besiegers. 



Check 


295 


“They’re sneakin’ around to the back jest like I 
thought,” he reflected, noting the faint smoky haze 
eddying down from above. “ You’ll never get a bet¬ 
ter chance, son. Here goes.” 

Drawing a long breath, he bent suddenly sidewise, 
thrust forth a long arm and gripped one corner of 
the saddlebag. For an instant it seemed to resist his 
effort and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead as 
he wondered whether it was still held fast by the sad¬ 
dle. But a stronger jerk brought it slowly toward 
him and a few seconds later he had dragged it behind 
the rock and was wiping the moisture from his fore¬ 
head. 

“Oh, boy!” he muttered, grinning fatuously with 
mingled relief and triumph. “ The bunch o’ dubs! ” 

And yet after all were they such dubs? The inter¬ 
mittent, seemingly purposeless shooting continued 
languidly, stirring Moran to a swift recurrence of his 
previous suspicion. If Asher’s men, who far out¬ 
numbered the Bar S crowd, did succeed in gaining a 
position from which they could command the rear of 
this rocky shelter the game would most decidedly be 
up. 

With cautious haste Dan started on the return 
trip, dragging the saddle bag after him. Again he 
crossed the open gap in safety and hoisting the gold 
up into the crevice climbed after it. Hauling that 
heavy weight through the narrow crack was slow 
work, but he finally gained the other side without 





296 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


incident, to be greeted by a chorus of congratulations. 

“We ain’t outa the woods yet, ma’am,” he said, 
ruthlessly breaking in on Mrs. Haight’s rhapsodies. 
“ They ain’t shootin’ to hit, but to cover up somethin’. 
I’m wonderin’ if some of ’em ain’t snakin’ around the 
rim to try an’ cut down on us from this side.” 

Mrs. Haight’s glance raked the steep, precipitous 
northern wall of the valley. “ I thought o’ that,” she 
admitted, “ an’ we been keepin’ close watch. So far 
there ain’t been a sign o’ anybody-” 

“It won’t do to wait for that,” cut in Moran. 
“We got to beat it outa range before they do show 
up. Yuli take care o’ these?” He flung the saddle¬ 
bags across Mrs. Haight’s horse and grinned briefly 
at Barton. “ You’ll have to ride somebody else’s nag, 
fellah,” he said, “an’ let them that hasn’t had a clip 
on the dome run ’longside. Let’s pull our freight.” 

His manner was infectious. Without further words 
Mrs. Haight swung into her saddle and gathered up 
the reins. The punchers, who had left their places 
at the summit of the rock when Dan appeared, made 
for the bunch of horses, Buck Stover forcing Barton 
to mount his dun cayuse while he held onto the stir¬ 
rup leather. As Moran flung a leg across the rested 
bay, he caught a glint of steel among the rocks up 
along the northern rim and gave a warning shout. 

“ Duck, fellahs! ” he cried, touching the bay with a 
spur. “ Beat it over close to the wall, an’ they can’t 
touch us.” 




Check 


297 


As the bay leaped forward a bullet spattered into 
the sod beside him. Another pinged past Dan’s ear 
with a sound like the vibration of a taunt steel wire. 
Flashes of fire and little spurts of smoke burst from 
the jagged top of that somber gray cliff, followed 
swiftly by the sharp crack of the shots. 

Bending over the neck of the horse, which lay 
along the ground in great leaps, it seemed to Moran 
as if the leaden slugs were striking all about him. Fie 
guessed the fire was being concentrated on himself, 
and with an odd, dispassionate curiosity found him¬ 
self wondering just where he was going to be hit and 
what it would feel like. Then abruptly, though the 
firing continued with uninterrupted volume, the thud¬ 
ding patter of the bullets ceased, and with a thrill of 
triumph he realized that he had passed into the shel¬ 
ter of the high cliff and out of range of the rifles 
posted along its summit. 

Glancing around he found that the others had been 
equally fortunate. Apparently no one had been so 
much as creased. Even Stover, clinging fast to Bar¬ 
ton’s stirrup and covering the ground in great protest¬ 
ing leaps, had made the swift dash in safety. Turn¬ 
ing jubilantly to Mrs. Haight, Dan found that lady’s 
face purpling with pure, unadulterated fury. 

“My soul!” she raged aloud. “Shot at on my 
own land! If I don’t make Orms Asher pay for this 
through the nose, I-” 

“Nemmine that now, ma’am,” urged Moran. 




298 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“Time enough later. I dunno’s even he’d have the 
nerve to chase us any further, but me, personal, I’d 
as leave get behind some solid log walls for a spell. 
I’m jest about fed up right now with this here open 
country.” 

The woman fumed and sputtered but seemed to 
perceive his point. 

“Alla same,” she stated belligerently, as she 
roweled her horse with a spur, “ he’s gonna pay for 
this if I have to take the case right up to the governor 
himself.” 



CHAPTER XLII 

TIGHTENING COILS 


D AN MORAN was not so sure. With every de¬ 
sire in the world to make Ormsby Asher pay 
well for his high-handed work of the past twenty-four 
hours, he knew that astute, cold-blooded person too 
well to feel any real confidence in their ability to put 
him in a hole. Indeed, when they had gained the 
house unpursued, eaten a hearty meal and snatched 
some sleep, an exceedingly unpleasant possibility came 
to him which he made haste to lay before the others. 

At first Mrs. Haight flatly refused to believe that 
any such danger could exist even in what she sourly 
termed, “ this corrupt, an’ Gawforsaken county.” 

“ Yo’re talkin’ wild, man,” she told Moran, stand¬ 
ing before the empty fireplace with feet spread well 
apart and arms folded. ‘ ‘Asher’s a crook four-ways, 
an’ there ain’t a dirty trick in the calendar I wouldn’t 
put past him to try. But when it comes to appealin’ 
to the law an’ making out it was his gold you stole 
outa that safe — why, that’s too plumb raw for even 
him to put across.” 

“ I ain’t.so shore o’ that, ma’am,” returned Moran 
quietly. “ He’s a mighty slick piece o’ work, an’ he’s 
got some o’ the county men sewed up pretty tight.” 

'‘That fat Jake Cawley!” sniffed Mrs. Haight 
scornfully, “An’ mebbe Jordan an’ Jim Coyle. But 
299 


300 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


this here would be a job for the sheriff, an’ I ain’t 
never heard Ed Plummer was crooked.” 

“ Not crooked, mebbe, but jest a little bent,” put in 
Barton, who had just entered the room. “ Yuh gotta 
admit he’s a sort of weak sister, an’ I’ve heard 
more’n once he was in pretty deep with Asher. When 
yuh owe a man money it ain’t human nature not to be 
a mite biased.” 

“ But such a thing would be ridiculous,” protested 
Colonel Rives, a spot of indignant color glowing in 
each wrinkled cheek. “The gold was ours — stolen 
from this very room in the most bare-faced manner. 
For Asher or anyone else to make a claim on it would 
be the height of absurdity. I don’t believe even a 
crooked official would dare touch such a case.” 

“ How many people could get up in court an’ swear 
to that? ” Dan asked quietly. “ I mean, that the gold 
was our property and was hidden in this room ? How 
many people actually saw it?” 

“Why — why, everybody, pretty near,” sputtered 
Mrs. Haight. “When yuh brought the colonel in 
that day an’ dumped the gold down outside ’most 
every man on the ranch was there. /They couldn’t 
help seein’ it. ” 

“They saw the bags,” corrected Moran with a 
shrug. “They mighta guessed what was in ’em, but 
not one of ’em really knew. What’s more, except the 
colonel an’ me, I’m thinkin’ there ain’t a soul who’s 
ever had a peek inside ’em. An’ both of us is what 



Tightening Coils 


301 


the law calls interested parties.” 

Silence followed his pregnant words. Colonel 
Rives was plainly taken aback. Mrs. Haight looked 
angry and not entirely convinced. Into Shirley’s 
flushed, pretty face there came a worried expression, 
and she glanced up at Moran, who sat on the arm of 
her chair, with a troubled question in her lovely eyes. 

“ Likely yuh folks think I’m makin’ a whole lot 
outa nothin’,” Dan went on slowly. “ But yuh see I 
know Orms Asher.” His arm lay along the back of 
the chair, and as he spoke his brown hand stole for¬ 
ward and rested on her shoulder. “ In the old days 
I usta see a lot of him; to tell the truth we had 
more’n one dealin’ together.” A slow flush crept into 
his face but his glance held steadfast and his voice did 
not falter. “ It’s those old days that’s gonna hit me 
hard now. When a fellah slips into a place after 
dark an’ snitches somethin’ from a safe, it ain’t gonna 
help him none with the law to have been one o’ the 
Saddle Butte gang.” 

Shirley’s slim hand flashed up and caught his 
brown, muscular fingers. An indignant, impatient 
growl issued from Mrs. Haight’s throat. 

“ But my land o’ love! ” she cried. “ Yuh quit that 
long ago, didn’t yuh? An’ it was Gessner opened the 
safe, an’-” 

“Shore,” returned Moran with a fleeting grin. 
“ But if he hadn’t, why Cass an’ me would of blown 
the thing up an’ likely the house along with it. We 




302 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


had them sticks o’ dynamite capped an’ ready, as 
somebody’s likely discovered by now. Don’t think 
I’m ashamed of it. I’m jest tellin’ yuh how the busi¬ 
ness stacks up to me, an’ how Asher can work up a 
pretty plausible story with his oily tongue. It’s my 
opinion we’re still up against it hard, an’ the best 
thing we can do is to take the gold an’ beat it while 
the goin’s still good.” 

“ It ain’t what you’d call awful good right now,” 
drawled Barton before anyone else could speak. 
“Asher’s bunch ain’t left by a long shot. They’re 
still hangin’ around the upper trail, Buck says, an’ 
Windy Keeler who jest come in from ridin’ fence at 
the other end of the valley saw a bunch of ’em 
blockin’ the way out there.” 

Mrs. Haight’s eyes snapped. “Tryin’ to pen us 
in ’till the sheriff comes, eh?” she said harshly. “I 
ain’t wishful to push yuh folks none,” she added, her 
determined glance sweeping the circle, “but if yo’re 
bound to go I reckon we can get together a bunch 
that’ll push a way through that lot o’ riffraff.” 

Moran gave her an appreciative glance. “ I don’t 
doubt it, ma’am,” he said, “but I expect it wouldn’t 
hardly do. What with the crowd he’s got from 
Hatchet, an’ the bunch he’s had time to pull off his 
ranch, the odds would be about three to one against 
us. Some o’ the fellahs would be downed shore. I 
had a notion he might try somethin’ like this, an’ I’m 
wonderin’ if we couldn’t slip off back through the 



Tightening Coils 


303 


hills like we did once before. There’s a way I know 
that would bring us out the other side o’ Wind River 
clean beyond the Saddle Butte country. Comes out 
near Smithtown, Mrs. Haight.” 

“ I know. A one-horse burg, but safe enough. The 
railroad’s only twenty miles beyond. It would take 
yuh two — three days goin’ through them mountains, 
though.” 

“ Shore. But it ain’t a hard trip, an’ even if it was, 
it would be worth all kinds o’ trouble to get that gold 
banked safe.” Moran grinned a trifle shamefacedly. 
“ Mebbe I got a case o’ nerves, but I tell yuh folks 
right here an’ now I feel a whole lot more uncertain 
than when Cass an’ me was playin’ with them sticks 
o’ dynamite last night.” 

“Exactly, suh,” agreed Colonel Rives emphati¬ 
cally, the color still burning in his long thin face. 
“There’s no telling what that scoundrel may do, and 
I don’t believe any of us will have a minute’s peace 
until— Would Barton go?” 

“ Shore would,” grinned Cass. “ I ain’t wild to be 
left behind an’ grabbed up by Orms Asher as a safe¬ 
cracker, which is what he’d certainly do if only outa 
spite for bein’ stung. O’ course mebbe yuh don’t want 
me, but-” 

“ Of course we do,” cut in the colonel. “ Dan will 
need a full-sized man to help him, and I’m afraid I’m 
not more than half a one if that, though perhaps I 
can do a little something. Shirley will be safe here 




304 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


with Mrs. Haight, and afterward she can join us.” 

“No!” exclaimed the girl sharply. “ I won’t be 
left behind, Dad.” 

The colonel regarded her with dismayed surprise. 
“But my dear child!” he protested. “I don’t see 
how you can-” 

“Not again,” she interrupted, her shapely chin 
determined. “You remember the last time. Why, 
Dad, I can stand as much as you and more, and any¬ 
way, I simply won’t be separated again from — from 
either of you. Dan! You see, don’t you?” 

Biting her lips she let her head fall back against 
her lover’s arm and looked up at him with eyes that 
were misted with sudden, troubled tears. Moran’s 
grasp tightened on her shoulder, but for a little space 
he did not speak. He understood well enough, but 
he was trying to decide honestly and without bias 
which was the better way. 

“ I don’t know why she shouldn’t come, Colonel,” 
he said at length. “ Like I said, it’s not a hard trip, 
an’ I’m shore we’d both be a lot more comfortable not 
leavin’ her behind. I wouldn’t wonder if she stood 
it as well as we did.” 

“O’ course she will,” put in Mrs. Haight impa¬ 
tiently. Her views on woman’s general superiority to 
man were pronounced and often aired. “Well, now 
you’ve decided,” she went on with a touch of irony, 
“suppose we go an’ find out if they’d sent a bunch 
around to block that way like they have the others.” 




CHAPTER XLIII 

THE MOUNTAIN TRAIL 


B ACK of the blacksmith shop and other clustering 
sheds behind the ranch house lay the beginning 
of a narrow, tortuous track which led up through the 
foothills into that spreading maze of mountain wil¬ 
derness known as the Rattlesnake Hills. 

It was rarely used, for the vast, little-known terri¬ 
tory through which it passed was entirely unsettled 
and some of it, especially to the westward, even un¬ 
explored. It was, however, a safe and not impassable 
short cut between the neighborhood of Hatchet and 
the Wind River basin, and Moran’s acquaintance with 
it dated from his first connection with the old Saddle 
Butte gang of rustlers and outlaws. 

The possibility that this, too, might be guarded by 
Asher’s men stirred Moran to swift uneasiness and 
instant action. Leaving the ranch house he and Bar¬ 
ton saddled up and set off at once to investigate. Pro¬ 
ceeding with slow caution, they made their way as far 
as the canon where Moran and the colonel had been 
ambushed, without seeing any signs of the outlaws. 
It was nearly six o’clock before they were back at the 
ranch house, where a consultation was held as to when 
they had best make a start. 

The colonel was in a pronounced state of nerves 
and wanted to leave at once, and Dan was inclined to 
305 


306 Moran of Saddle Butte 

agree with him. If they delayed till dawn they might 
find their way cut off, or Asher, rooting out the sheriff 
sooner than now seemed likely, might appear boldly 
before the ranch house backed by the full force of 
the law. By going now there would be a full two 
hours of daylight in which to penetrate into the moun¬ 
tains well beyond the danger point. 

The decision made, no time was lost in putting it 
into execution. After a hurried supper fresh horses 
were saddled, another packed with food and a pair 
of blankets for Shirley, and the gold divided evenly 
among the four. The farewells were brief, almost 
casual. Nell Driscoll wept a little on Barton’s shoul¬ 
der, but pulled herself together quickly, for Cass 
had promised to return within the week, or failing 
that to send for her. Mrs. Haight was bluff and mat¬ 
ter of fact, and the assembled punchers, waving their 
good-byes, seemed chiefly entertained with gleeful 
comments on this agreeable thwarting of Orms Asher. 
Cass Barton brought up the rear of the little party 
and as they passed around a bend which would take 
them finally out of sight of the group gathered below, 
he turned and shouted back a laughing reply to one 
of Buck Stover’s jocular remarks. 

“Give Orms my love, an’ tell him I never thought 
to see him make such a mess of anything. I expect 
he’s gettin’ old an’ losin’ his grip.” 

Astride of Bob, his favorite cream, Dan listened, 
and puzzled inwardly at his own lack of response to 



The Mountain Trail 


307 


the joshing give and take. It wasn’t at all his habit 
to take life seriously; their plans seemed to be work¬ 
ing out without a hitch, and just behind him rode the 
girl whose mere presence was usually enough to make 
him oblivious to everything save her. And yet in 
spite of all this he found himself troubled by a vague 
oppression that was almost impossible to shake off. 

It certainly wasn’t fear, nor could it be termed ex¬ 
actly a presentiment of evil. He finally came to the 
conclusion that the very responsibility of Shirley’s 
being with them was working subconsciously on his 
nerves, and with a determined effort he forced it into 
the background of his mind. Nevertheless he could 
not quite obliterate it. The feeling made him im¬ 
patient of even slight delays and drove him on along 
the rough, narrow, tortuous track until it had grown 
almost too dark for prudence. When they made 
camp in a little sheltered coulee by the way, he re¬ 
covered something of his wonted spirits. But he slept 
poorly and was wide awake long before there was 
light enough for them to start. 

The morning seemed, somehow, to reflect his 
mood. The sun rose in a welter of crimson flame, so 
garishly brilliant that no painter would have dared 
transform those gaudy colors to his canvas. But 
scarcely had the red sphere crept up above that line 
of saw-toothed mountains to the east, than a gauzy 
curtain seemed to be drawn across it. It wasn’t haze 
nor clouds, but rather a curious atmospheric condi- 



308 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


tion which in effect was oddly deadening and intangi¬ 
bly unpleasant. The gentle breeze which had stirred* 
through the mountain canons before dawn had died 
away completely, leaving a sort of breathless calm, 
freighted by a growing and oppressive heat. 

“Judas!” growled Barton, pushing back his hat 
and running his fingers through a moist, matted tan¬ 
gle of crisp hair. “ I hope we ain’t in for a storm. 
That would be about the extreme limit.” 

“ Looks as if we were due for something,” 
shrugged Moran, “ an’ they’re generally humdingers 
in these mountains. I wouldn’t mind, though, if it 
wasn’t for Shirley an’ colonel. A good hard deluge 
might sorta discourage Asher’s crowd from followin’ 
us, an’-” 

“ I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Dan, right at 
the very beginning, too,” cut in Shirley emphatically. 
“ You’ll make me feel as if I was going to be a beastly 
drag and handicap, and that’s hateful.” 

Dan smiled briefly. “You could never be that,” 
he told her quickly. “ Only, as I remember this trail 
there’s no decent sort of shelter, and if we should 
have one of those regular cloudbursts I’ve seen up 
here-” 

“ I’d get wet like the rest of you,” finished the girl 
briskly. “ Do please remember, Dan, that I’m not 
one of these delicate hothouse flowers. I’m used to 
roughing it, and I’ve been caught out in the rain and 
drenched through more times than I can remember. 





The Mountain Trail 


309 


If a storm is likely to bother that hateful Asher per¬ 
son, let’s hope it comes quickly. Do you really think 
he’ll follow us into these mountains?” 

The trail had broadened so that they could ride 
abreast. Dan hesitated an instant, glancing sidewise 
at the girl. 

44 1 don’t believe .there’s much doubt about it,” he 
returned. “ You know I’ve told you he’s the stubborn 
kind that sticks. When he finds out we’ve left the 
ranch he’s not gonna lose any time gettin’ after us.” 

“But how will he know which way we’ve gone? 
Mrs. Haight and the boys won’t ever tell him.” 

“They won’t have to. With both ends of the 
valley blocked this is the only way we could get out. 
What he can’t guess, though, is that we’re plannin’ to 
switch off through the mountains toward Smithtown. 
If we can only get well away from this trail before 
they come along, we’ll be able to take the rest of the 
trip easy.” 

“Whereabouts do we turn off, Dan?” asked 
Barton from behind. 

“Through a little gulch that shoots off to the right 
of the trail about six or seven miles ahead,” Moran 
answered. “There’s a number of ’em strung along 
in a row, an’ the right one ain’t so awful easy to pick 
in a hurry. That’s why I want to get there before 
anything happens to hold us up.” 

He glanced toward the east and frowned a little. 
The haze had deepened and through it the sun glowed 



310 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


dully, a great, saffron-colored sphere. Rolling up 
from the horizon were heavy masses of black clouds 
from which long, dark streamers reached out like the 
tentacles of an octopus clutching at the sun. Moving 
with extraordinary speed, they swept up into the 
heavens dragging the storm clouds after them. As 
they spread across the sun the black edges glowed 
momentarily with a lurid, blood-red color; shafts of 
angry crimson streaked out above them like the re¬ 
flection of some immense conflagration. Then swiftly 
these faded, died, and a sudden, ominous shadow 
spread over the earth. 

“We’re in for it,” said Barton curtly. “How 
about a mite more speed, kid?” 

Though the roughness of the trail made fast riding 
hazardous, Moran had already touched the cream 
lightly with a spur and drew ahead of Shirley, who 
was mounted on her favorite sorrel. Colonel Rives 
came next, while Barton brought up the rear leading 
the laden packhorse. 

From this moment conversation languished. Strung 
along in single file, attention centered chiefly on guid¬ 
ing their horses, they clattered on in silence through 
the gorges and defiles. At times the way was fairly 
clear; more often they were forced to slow down for 
difficult descents or steep, boulder-cluttered rises. 
Above their heads the black storm clouds rushed on 
swallowing up the blue with surprising velocity, like 
some shapeless, insensate ravening monster. On 



The Mountain Trail 


311 


either hand, out of draws and gulches and the open¬ 
ing of narrow canons, the shadows crept steathily, 
blotting contours, blurring the rough, jagged edges of 
the cliffs, leveling crevices and concavities into 
smooth, opaque surfaces. 

As mile after mile passed with tantalizing slowness, 
it became increasingly difficult to see ahead for any 
distance. It was as if veil after veil of dull, dark 
gauze was being drawn across the mountain landscape 
constantly limiting the depth of vision. And yet in 
spite of this and of the tumbling, billowing clouds 
rushing across the heavens, not a breath stirred down 
below. The air was hot, lifeless, stifling; the clatter 
of the horses’ hoofs, echoing and reechoing from the 
cliffs on either side, sounded through that tense, un¬ 
natural stillness with a volume that was almost deaf¬ 
ening. 

To Dan it seemed as if Nature was holding her 
breath preparatory to a sudden, concerted loosening 
of all her forces. He had lost all track of time, and 
the sameness of the rock-bound defiles through which 
they fled, blurred as these were by the swiftly falling 
darkness, made it difficult or impossible to tell how 
near they were to the spot where they must leave the 
trail. Down in his heart he was beginning to despair 
of their gaining that refuge before the storm broke, 
but still he kept on, clinging stubbornly to the skirts 
of hope. Indeed, he was really forced to, for the 
steep cliffs on either hand rose sheer and unbroken 



312 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


now, holding not even the faintest promise of a shel¬ 
ter. 

At length — his mind divided between quieting his 
snorting, frightened mount and peering continually 
through the gathering gloom — Moran’s eyes bright¬ 
ened as the shadowy opening of a gully loomed up on 
the right. It wasn’t the one he sought, but the gaunt, 
dead pine towering up just within the entrance was 
familiar. The one they ought to take was just be¬ 
yond, not more than a few hundred yards, he thought. 
For a second, hand tightening on the reins, glance 
flashing critically upward, he hesitated, wondering 
whether to risk it or turn in here and wait. Then, 
deciding to take a chance, he flung back a word or two 
of explanation to the others and urged the cream on¬ 
ward. 

Not more than two hundred yards beyond the last 
faint flicker of light vanished before that crushing 
pall of darkness. The blurred outlines of the flank¬ 
ing cliffs faded into a thin, tenuous, barely perceptible 
line; ahead the trail was visible, and that but dimly, 
for no more than a score of feet. Of its own accord 
the cream slowed down to an uncertain walk. 

Dan drew one hand across his moist forehead and 
cursed under his breath. What a fool he had been to 
persist like this. Why hadn’t he taken the shelter 
chance had offered? For an instant he was minded 
to turn back. Then his jaw stiffened and he urged the 
horse onward. The shelter he sought was almost 




The Mountain Trail 


313 


within reach. He knew it. He felt, too, that it would 
take longer to go back than forward. 

Then it was — or a few moments later — that the 
unpleasant realization flashed over him that through 
this smothering darkness it would be quite impossible 
to distinguish one opening or another. The cliffs 
were lower than they had been and by straining his 
eyes he could barely make out the rough, uneven line 
that marked their summit. Only too well he knew 
that this line, vague and shadowy at best, would fail 
to show the break caused by the opening of an in¬ 
significant gulch. Again his hand tightened on the 
reins and as it did a murmur reached him, faint at 
first but growing swiftly louder and more ominous. 

The wind! There was nothing now but to make 
the best of the scant shelter of the eastern wall. Turn¬ 
ing swiftly he grasped the bridle of Shirley’s sorrel. 

“We’re caught,” he cried. “I’m sorry. I 
hoped-” 

Abruptly he broke off as a jagged streak of flame 
blazed out across the velvet pall and swift upon its 
heels the thunder crashed and rolled and seemed to 
shake the earth. Shirley caught her breath and the 
packhorse squealed shrilly. But Dan was thrilled 
suddenly with a new hope. For the momentary white 
glare of the lightning flash had shown him not a 
dozen feet away a narrow gash in the western line of 
cliffs, the entrance, he felt assured, of that very gulch 
he had just now despaired of finding. 




314 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“This way!” he shouted, above the roaring of 
the wind. Turning the cream abruptly, he spurred 
him forward. “ Hustle! ” he yelled back. 

Still gripping the bridle of Shirley’s horse, he 
whirled into the gulch, the others close behind. Bar¬ 
ton, delayed a little by the actions of the panic-stricken 
pack horse, had just made it when with a shrieking 
roar the wind caught him. The force of it seemed 
to propel both horses irresistibly forward. Bewil¬ 
dered, half-blinded, Cass cursed mechanically as he 
felt his hat torn from his head and whirled off into 
the darkness. Then suddenly another dazzling flash 
lit up the whole short length of the gulch ahead of 
him, revealing Colonel Rives, bent forward over his 
horse’s neck, just disappearing around a sharp bend 
about twenty yards ahead. 

Blindly Barton followed him, feeling dazedly as if 
an inferno had been let loose about him. A sudden 
spurt of rain stung against his neck; all about him it 
was beating down with a hissing spatter. Some in¬ 
stinct must have guided the frightened horse around 
the turn, for when another blaze of light lit up the 
darkness for an instant, it revealed to Barton his com¬ 
panions dismounted and huddled with their horses 
beneath a narrow rocky overhang just ahead. 

With a gasp of relief he spurred forward, swung 
swiftly out of the saddle and dragging both horses 
after him, felt his way forward into this inadequate 
but welcome shelter. 



CHAPTER XLIV 


LOST 

H OW long it was before the first tremendous 
force of the tempest had spent itself, Moran 
had no idea. Shirley stood behind him close against 
the rock, and he did his best to shield her from the 
lashing rain which drove in under the scanty overhang 
and quickly drenched him to the skin. The howling 
of the wind and almost continuous crash of thunder 
made it impossible to talk. Moreover, Dan had his 
hands full with the two horses, which alternately cow¬ 
ered, trembling, and tried to break away from his 
hold. 

But all things have an end, and little by little the 
lightning flashes grew further apart and the pauses 
between them and the rolling thunder lengthened. 
Gradually the force of the wind weakened, the dark¬ 
ness slowly lightened and at last they looked out 
through a curtain of steadily falling rain onto a nar¬ 
row sweep of gray, desolate, drenched rocks with 
here and there a scanty mass of hardy vegetation, 
torn and beaten down by the force of the tempest. 

Dan swept a lock of dripping hair from his eyes 
and turned to look at Shirley. Her face was a little 
pale and her hair and lashes dewed with moisture, 
but she smiled back at him with gay courage. 

“ What a deluge! ” she exclaimed. “ Do you 
315 


316 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


really think it’s over?” 

“The worst of it, anyhow, though it’ll probably 
keep on rainin’ for a while. Are you — very wet?” 

She gave a sudden infectious chuckle. “ No, darl¬ 
ing, not at all. I know you tried to shield me, and it 
was very sweet of you,” she went on, mopping her 
face with a small, moist handkerchief. “ But it 
seemed to beat in on every side. To tell the truth, 
I’m soaked. How are you, Dad ? ” 

Colonel Rives blew the moisture from his draggled 
mustache. “Soggy, my dear,” he returned laconi¬ 
cally. “ I feel rather like a drowned rat.” 

“You look it, too,” rejoined his daughter frankly. 
“And so do the rest of us.” She glanced out at the 
rain which had lessened to a steady but persistent 
drizzle. “Wouldn’t it be just as well to start mov¬ 
ing, Dan? We can’t get any wetter, and I’ve a feel¬ 
ing that if I stand still much longer I’ll be chilled to 
the bone.” 

“ Not a bad idea,” agreed Moran. “As I remem¬ 
ber, a couple of miles further in there’s some pines 
growing along one side of the gulch. We might be 
able to find a few dry sticks and make a fire.” 

Shirley expressed her pleasure at the thought, but 
was privately of the opinion that nothing within a 
radius of miles would be dry enough to burn for days. 
It was decided for a while at least to walk, and so, 
leading their horses they set off briskly along the 
gulch. 



Lost 


317 


For a space this led southwest, deepening gradually 
as it penetrated into the mountains. Then came an¬ 
other abrupt turn and the gulch merged into a canon 
whose sheer, rocky sides, bare of any sort of vegeta¬ 
tion, continually increased in height as they went for¬ 
ward. 

Presently Moran’s attention which for a time had 
been occupied with Shirley, began to wander and as 
he glanced from side to side a puzzled wrinkle 
dodged into his forehead. Though he had traveled 
this route to Smithtown only once and that two years 
ago, his surroundings struck him with a growing sense 
of complete strangeness. Not only did he miss the 
pines, which he remembered clearly, but there were 
other variations that impressed themselves on his sub¬ 
conscious mind. Of course these mountain gorges 
and defiles all presented a certain sameness, but surely 
they ought somewhere to have come upon at least one 
familiar feature. It seemed scarcely possible that he 
could have taken the wrong turning, and yet, remem¬ 
bering the darkness and the number of gulches and 
draws which opened off the main trail so close to¬ 
gether, Dan began to grow doubtful. 

For a space, however, he kept his own counsel. 
The canon curved into another, at the end of which 
a long, steep, rubble-strewn slope led to an odd sort of 
flat mesa ringed round with mountains. Long before 
this, having walked themselves into a pleasant glow, 
the party had mounted, and as his horse clambered 



318 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


up the last few feet of the slope and halted to breathe 
on the edge of that curious flat expanse, Moran’s last 
doubts fled before convincing certainty. 

“What’s the matter, Dan?” asked Shirley sud¬ 
denly. For some minutes she had been watching his 
face closely. “Have we by any chance taken the 
wrong trail?” 

Moran glanced at her with a whimsical, wry smile. 
“ I don’t know how you guessed it, but I’m afraid we 
have,” he answered. “At first I wasn’t shore, but 
now— Well, I’m mighty certain I never saw this 
flat place before.” 

The others had come up and for a moment or two 
they sat their horses in a little silent group. The rain 
had ceased, and the sun was struggling to break 
through the ragged clouds. 

“ It sounds like a fool thing to do,” resumed 
Moran presently, “ but I’ve never taken that trail to 
Smithtown but once and that was over two years ago. 
I did know the entrance, though, perfectly. It was 
the first opening beyond the one with that tall, dead 
pine. I expect what’s happened is that I passed by 
the right one in the dark, and when the lightning 
showed up the one leadin’ in here so plain, I took it 
for the other. They’re strung along pretty close for 
a spell.” 

“Where do you suppose this goes to?” asked 
Shirley, presently breaking a brief silence. 

“ No tellin’ a-tall,” returned Moran with a shrug. 



Lost 


319 


“ It may cut through the mountains to the west or 
south, or mebbe jest wriggles around a bit an’ ends up 
in nothin’ like a lot of these mountain ways. There’s 
a heap o’ country in the Rattlesnake Hills nobody 
knows much about.” 

“ I never heard tell of but one trail through to the 
Smithtown basin,” put in Barton thoughtfully. 

“ Nor me. Looks like we might do the Columbus 
stunt, though, an’ put another on the map — unless 
yuh folks wanta take a chance an’ go back.” 

“Not me!” retorted Cass emphatically. “We’re 
too darn likely to bump into Asher’s crowd. I move 
we go ahead. We got plenty o’ grub, an’ if we keep 
goin’ long enough we’re shore to come out some 
place. We haven’t run up against any snags yet. To 
tell the truth I was jest thinkin’ what a straightaway, 
easy road it was. Most o’ these mountain trails are 
mighty hard to keep on, what with canons branchin’ 
off an’ draws an’ gullies dividin’ up into twos an’ 
threes. So far, you’ll notice, we haven’t had to pick 
an’ choose at all.” 

“That’s just it,” agreed Shirley. “We couldn’t 
have turned off if we’d wanted to. I believe it’s a 
regular trail after all. Perhaps it isn’t used much, 
or hasn’t been lately, but I’m sure it leads to some 
special place.” 

Knowing how easy it is for the inexperienced to 
mistake the natural winding ways that criss-cross be- 
wilderingly through the mountains, Moran smiled a 



320 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


little at her naive enthusiasm and confidence. He 
never dreamed how accurately her random shaft had 
pierced the bull’s eye, much less the nature of the goal 
toward which they were unconsciously moving. 

“Well, let’s drag it, then,” he suggested, stirring 
the cream with one heel. “Whereabouts didja lose 
yore hat, Cass? ” 

“Jest inside the gulch,” growled Barton. The sun 
had finally broken through the clouds and poured 
down on them with increasing warmth, and he was 
beginning to wonder how he could replace that useful 
headgear. “The wind lifted it off while I was wras- 
tlin’ with this dawg-goned ol’ bone-rack of a pack 
hoss. I expect it’s roostin’ some’ers up on the cliffs.” 

“ You’ll have to fie your handkerchief around your 
head if it gets much hotter,” said Shirley. “My! 
Doesn’t it feel good, though, to begin to get rid of 
that horrid soggy feeling?” 

They crossed the level plateau more or less at ran¬ 
dom and were forced to skirt the farther cliffs for 
some little time before they came upon a break which 
opened into a shallow gulch. Here at last were trees, 
and a halt was promptly made and the horses un¬ 
saddled. With some difficulty Barton and Moran 
built a fire from more or less damp wood and while 
Shirley and the colonel finished drying out before it, 
they opened the pack—fortunately protected by an 
oilskin tarp — and prepared a meal. 

It was long after mid-day when they set out again, 



Lost 


321 


and before an hour had passed Moran was frankly 
puzzled. The way turned and twisted and curved 
about through canons, draws and gorges, or up over 
rocky ridges with all the tortuous intricacies he had 
expected in this mountain wilderness. There was not 
the slightest evidence of recent use, and yet two 
things were forcibly impressed upon his mind. In 
spite of its constant twisting variations, the route they 
followed kept steadily to the same general direction 
and at no time was there any place where they could 
have turned aside without a deliberate attempt to 
abandon the straight-forward natural course. 

The latter was at once an advantage, and a source 
of occasional slight uneasiness to Dan. There was 
no time wasted in pausing to decide which of two 
turnings they had better take. On the other hand 
any possible pursuit would be proportionally quick¬ 
ened. Not that Moran had any real reason for think¬ 
ing that Asher would have any motive for turning 
aside from the trail to Saddle Butte, but once or twice 
he could not help thinking of Barton’s lost hat and 
picturing to himself what a truly excellent clue it 
would make if it had chanced to lodge inside the gulch 
within sight of the main trail. 

“ But, shucks! ” he finally told himself reassuringly. 
“ There ain’t a chance in a hundred o’ that hap¬ 
penin’.” 

Nightfall found them in a shallow canon high up in 
the wildest, least frequented section of the Rattle- 



322 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


snake Hills. Dan had never approached this part of 
the wilderness before. Indeed, it was not a country 
to attract any safe random prospectors, or an oc¬ 
casional outlaw flying from justice. He and Cass 
tried to figure out what lay ahead of them and about 
how long it would be before they might hope to strike 
through to the western slopes of the range but with¬ 
out any marked success. It seemed incredible that 
this curiously regular course should continue straight 
through the mountains without encountering obsta¬ 
cles. Both agreed that sooner or later they were due 
to run into difficulties, and until these appeared it 
would be useless to indulge in any predictions. 

They camped comfortably and were off again soon 
after sunrise. About an hour later they entered a 
narrow defile hemmed in on both sides by steep high 
walls and heading apparently straight into a tower¬ 
ing barrier which appeared to block off completely 
its further end. 

Barton and Moran exchanged pointed glances and 
then the latter’s gaze raked the great cliff critically. 
Even from this distance it was plainly unscalable, but 
before many minutes he had noted a darker line paral¬ 
leling the base which seemed to give some promise of 
a cross canon through which they might hope to 
escape this obstacle. 

“ I only hope you’re right,” said Shirley, when Dan 
had drawn her attention to the possibility. “ I should 
hate to be stuck long here.” She laughed a little but 



Lost 


323 


there was not much mirth in her tone. “ I don’t 
usually have impressions, but don’t you think there’s 
something awfully gloomy and depressing about this 
place?” 

Even Moran, used as he was to such conditions and 
decidedly matter of fact, had to admit that she was 
right. The walls of the narrow canon were of a 
dark rock, almost black, and rose so sheer and 
straight that the sunlight touched only the upper por¬ 
tion of the western rim. The gigantic barrier flung 
across the farther end was of the same dead, somber 
hue. Even where the sun touched it, it gave forth 
no life or sparkle, and the towering summit seemed 
to reach out and overhang its base in a manner which 
gave one an odd, unpleasant sense of insecurity. 

Dan’s attention, however, was chiefly centered on 
the base of this great cliff and that dark line which 
seemed to promise a way out. Gradually as they 
neared it this widened, the margin growing more dis¬ 
tinct, until suddenly an unpleasant possibility flashed 
into Moran’s mind. But it was not until they had 
almost reached the abrupt ending of the little canon 
that he fully realized the nature of the obstacle that 
barred their way. 

The dark line, widened now to a ribbon of somber 
shadow, marked the opening of an impassable gulf. 
Far back in the remote past, some tremendous con¬ 
vulsion of nature had torn the mountain asunder, 
flinging back both sides and further dividing them by 



324 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


this strange, straight gash. Clean-cut, sheer, smooth 
as if from the slicing of a gigantic knife, the sides of 
this impenetrable abyss dropped straight down to an 
unimagined depth. Right and left it stretched far 
beyond the line of vision, and though its width was 
barely fifty feet, it presented as complete a barrier 
as though it had been a thousand. 



CHAPTER XLV 

THE DEAD CITY 


ANNOYED, disgusted and not a little troubled, 
l\. Moran suddenly felt Shirley pluck his sleeve. 

“ Dan! ” she cried. “ What is that thing up there? 
It looks like a — a bit of stone wall, and yet I don’t 
see how-” 

She paused, and Moran, turning his head swiftly, 
stared with growing surprise at the spot she indi¬ 
cated. Close to the edge of the abyss the left hand 
wall of the canon terminated in a tier of roughly 
laid stones rising to a height of some eight or nine 
feet. Due somewhat to the projection of a flat slab 
about three feet below the summit, it had much the 
appearance of one side of an entrance or a gateway, 
the other section of which had crumbled away or fal¬ 
len into the depths of that bottomless gorge. Raised 
about ten feet above the canon floor it was ap¬ 
proached by a narrow, rough, exceedingly steep slope 
littered with stones and rubbish. 

“Gosh!” exclaimed Dan, surveying this surpris¬ 
ing structure perplexedly. “ It shore does look as if 
somebody’d been doin’ a bit o’ mason work. I won¬ 
der what in thunder’s up there?” 

Turning his horse, he rode over to the foot of the 
slope and swung out of the saddle. Stirred by keen 
curiosity, he lost no time clambering up over the 
325 



326 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


rough surface which he now saw was composed 
mainly of rudely squared stones and rubble fallen 
from the masonry above. But mingled with that 
curiosity was a growing hope that this might prove 
to be the way out they so ardently sought. He won¬ 
dered if the horses could make it. The slope was 
steep, to be sure, and the footing difficult, but with 
help and encouragement he thought they might man¬ 
age it. The instant he gained the summit, however, 
such practical questions vanished promptly before his 
wondering, bewildered amazement at the strange 
sight which lay before him. 

A shelf, narrow at first, but widening abruptly to a 
depth of several hundred feet, lay along the edge of 
that deep slit. Dan could not make out its full extent, 
partly because it curved away from his line of vision 
and partly on account of the shadow cast by the im¬ 
mense rocky overhang which swept out and over this 
wide ledge, sheltering the structures which crowded 
it almost to the very edge from the winds and rains 
and slow, ceaseless erosion of unknown centuries. 

For houses they were, crudely but solidly built of 
stone. Tier upon tier they rose like the receding 
steps of a pyramid, the uppermost merging impercep¬ 
tibly into the gloom that lay under that great natural 
shelter. Roofless, most of them, with gaping, crum¬ 
bling window-holes, and here and there a completely 
shattered wall, their ruinous condition spoke elo¬ 
quently of the countless years that had passed since 



The Dead City 


327 


that far-distant day when this desolate still place re¬ 
sounded with the talk and chatter, the constant lively, 
busy hum of a populous village filled with living, 
breathing people. 

What sort of people these had been Moran, star¬ 
ing spellbound at the aged relics of their dwellings, 
had small notion. He had seen some of the Hopi 
pueblos in Arizona, and among the mountains farther 
north had several times come upon shattered bits of 
ancient masonry tucked away in remote corners. But 
none of them had approached in size or elaboration 
the ruins which lay before him. It was difficult to 
believe that the builders had been mere Indians. 

Roused from his abstraction by a slightly tart in¬ 
quiry from Barton, Moran turned and looked down 
at the trio gazing up at him expectantly. 

“ It’s one of these here cliff dweller towns,” he 
explained quickly. “The biggest thing I ever saw, 
an’ tucked away right snug under a big overhang. 
Come on up. The horses’ll stand all right.” 

Shirley was the first to dismount and as Moran 
helped her up the slope, followed by Barton and 
Colonel Rives, she gave a cry of astonishment. 

“ I never dreamed of anything like this! ” she ex¬ 
claimed. “ Isn’t it strange and weird looking? I told 
you that trail was leading somewhere, Dan,” she 
added triumphantly. 

“Yuh shore made a good guess,” he answered 
smiling. “What I wanta know, though, is whether 



328 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


there’s a way out at the other end of this ledge, or is 
the whole place jest a sort of pocket.” Her remark 
made him realize afresh that where they had gone 
others might follow as easily. u It’s a mighty inter¬ 
estin’ place, but we don’t wanta stop here too long. 
What do yuh think, Cass? If we can get the cayuses 
up this slope, it looks like it would be easy enough to 
walk ’em along that strip between the fronts o’ the 
houses an’ the edge of that drop.” 

Barton glanced in the direction he indicated and 
nodded. “That part’s all right,” he said. “A good 
eight feet wide, I’d say, an’ there’s a wall along the 
edge most o’ the way.” He turned and surveyed the 
slope critically. “ Reckon we can get ’em up here, 
too. Question is, like yuh say, is the other end 
blocked or open? This here musta been a gate once. 
Lookit the way they laid their stone right up against 
the native rock. I expect they used a ladder to get in 
an’ out with. Some safe joint, I’ll tell the world, if 
the other end’s laid out anythin’ like this.” 

“Why don’t you go and see,” suggested Colonel 
Rives. “ I’ll stay with the horses.” 

“We better both stay,” amended Barton. “Yuh 
an’ Shirley can chase along an’ look things over. 
Don’t waste no more time than you can help, though. 
This shore would be a mean place to be caught in.” 

Colonel Rives turned on him swiftly. “What do 
you mean?” he asked quickly. “You don’t think 
that Asher-” 




The Dead City 


329 


“ Lord, no! Like enough he’s well along toward 
Saddle Butte by now, only yuh can’t even be down¬ 
right shore in a case like this. Mussin’ with this 
dawg-gone bandanna brought my hat to mind, I ex¬ 
pect, an’ set me to wonderin’ what would happen if 
it had landed down in the bottom o’ the gulch instead 
of up on the cliffs.” 

“ Hardly likely,” said Moran hastily, noting the 
troubled expression which had flashed into the 
colonel’s face. “Well, we’ll be back in two shakes. 
All ready, Shirley?” 

The girl had already started and together they 
moved briskly forward along the narrow way which 
lay between the fronts of the crowded line of houses 
and a crumbling wall that ran along the edge of the 
abyss. Seen at close range the structures roused anew 
Dan’s wonder and admiration. He had never trou¬ 
bled to find out anything about the old cliff dwellers, 
but he supposed them to be merely old-time proto¬ 
types of the present day Indian tribes, and as such 
possessed of an even scantier equipment of tools and 
implements. How it had been possible, with nothing 
more than crude flint knives and chisels, to smooth 
and shape these stones and fit them together so ac¬ 
curately, passed his comprehension. A circular squat 
tower, rising prominently amidst the other flat-roofed 
structures, particularly aroused his admiration. Win¬ 
dowless, doorless — the entrance must have been 
from above or at the rear — its smooth outer surface 



330 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


showed a perfect curve, while between the stones, laid 
dry without a vestige of mortar, one could scarcely 
have thrust a knife blade. 

Shirley was also greatly interested and impressed 
and wanted to look into every opening they passed. 
They did indeed pause for a few seconds to peer into 
one of the ruined structures and saw merely a small, 
square room empty of everything save the debris of 
the fallen roof. 

A little way beyond the round tower the ledge 
curved slightly, revealing the extremity of the shelf 
not more than four hundred feet beyond. At this 
further end it narrowed considerably, though not 
quite to the scant width of the entrance, nor did there 
appear to be any gateway or similar defenses. The 
more or less level pathway on which they walked 
seemed to continue straight on beyond the overhang¬ 
ing rock to turn sharply around a sunlit shoulder of 
the mountain a short distance beyond. 

The sight of that gleam of sunlight in cheerful con¬ 
trast to encompassing gloom flamed Moran’s hope 
into a bright flame and sent him hurrying to investi¬ 
gate. Shirley kept close to him and presently, passing 
the last house, they approached a spot where the 
shelving overhang had dwindled to a mere shadowed 
niche in the rocky wall. 

Suddenly Dan stopped short, his right hand drop¬ 
ping to his thigh. Something stood there in that 
niche — a shadowy motionless figure which bore a 



The Dead City 


331 


momentary, ominous likeness to a human shape. 

“Oh!” cried Shirley the next instant. “Dan! 
That — that thing there! What-” 

Moran relaxed with a sudden laugh. “ Does give 
yuh a shock for a minute, don’t it? ” he chuckled. “ I 
reckon he’s harmless, though. Let’s take a look. It’s 
nothin’ but a stone image,” he added reassuringly as 
the girl still hung back a little. 

Together they went forward to examine more 
closely this strange piece of prehistoric sculpture, 
which was crude enough in a way yet curiously im¬ 
pressive. It represented the figure of a man slightly 
more than life size, seated on a roughly squared ped¬ 
estal. The knees were pressed together, the arms 
laid horizontally across the breast with the hands 
turned upward in a peculiar manner. The stone was 
worn and pitted with age and erosion and, except for 
its rarity as a curiosity, the image would have created 
no marked attention save for the touch of genius 
which some long dead sculptor had left upon that 
impassive face. 

For none save a genius could have perpetrated 
with those few and simple lines the impression of 
cold, malignant cruelty which stamped that square- 
jawed visage. Cruelty was in the curve of lip and 
flare of nostril; cruelty and power marked the heavy, 
indomitable chin. And in the drooping, heavy-lidded 
eyes there seemed to lurk the sinister, concentrated 
evil of ages. 




332 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


Though Dan had never seen one, he had heard 
vaguely of hideous stone idols down in Mexico before 
which the ancient Aztecs had been wont to pour out 
the blood of human sacrifices. The memory of the 
legend flashed over him now and instinctively his 
glance swept downward as if he half expected to find 
the knees and feet of this sinister relic of a forgotten 
people splashed with an ineradicable dark stain. 



CHAPTER XLVI 

THE MENACING WHISPER 


“TT7HAT a perfectly beastly creature!’ 1 ex- 

V V claimed Shirley, shrinking back a little from 
the idol. “ Do you suppose anyone can ever have 
worshiped a thing like that? I expect they must 
have, though. I can’t imagine its being put there for 
any other purpose.” 

“ Me, neither,” agreed Moran absently. “ Does it 
seem to you as if the ugly devil was lookin’ down at 
that slab there, or is my imagination workin : over¬ 
time? ” 

Shirley’s glance shifted swiftly from the face of 
the image to a flat square slab at its foot, and back 
again. 

“Why, it is,” she returned quickly. “At least it 
looks as if— Oh, Dan! Don’t step on it,” she cried 
in sudden alarm as Moran moved forward. “ How 
do you know it’s safe? ” 

“ I don’t,” he answered, smiling over one shoulder. 
“That’s what I wanta find out. We’ve got to step 
on it to get across — at least the horses have.” 

Unaccountably troubled, she watched him bend 
down and examine the slab closely. It was a single 
smooth section of hard stone about six feet square set 
into the ledge with such careful accuracy that from a 
little distance it looked like part of the native rock. 

333 


334 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


It reached from the base of the idol to the edge of 
the abyss, which here was unprotected by any wall, 
and was so placed in reference to a projection of the 
inner cliff that there was no possible way of getting 
around it. To gain the continuation of the path one 
had either to walk across it or leap the gap. 

“ Funny,” muttered Moran, in a puzzled tone. “ I 
wonder if it could be a bridge.” 

He tested it, lightly at first, then kicked it with one 
booted foot, but the slab remained as unyielding as 
the ledge itself. Drawing back a pace he dashed 
suddenly across it at a run, and still it did not even 
quiver. Returning more slowly he paused beside 
Shirley. 

“ Solid as a rock,” he commented. 44 It is a bridge 
like I thought. Yuh notice the way those outside 
edges are squared out with a sort of ’dobe stuff? Like 
enough there was a slit in the ledge here an’ this was 
their way of bridgin’ it. Clever work, I’ll say. Yuh 
cornin’ over?” 

44 1 don’t like the way he looks down at it,” com¬ 
mented Shirley illogically. ' 

Nevertheless she did not hesitate, and together 
they walked quickly across the slab and hastened on, 
eager now to see what lay beyond the turn. 

What they expected to find was doubtful. Cer¬ 
tainly their wildest hopes scarcely reached to this 
amazing, wide-spread sweep of country lying at their 
feet. The sunlit ledge on which they stood was like 



The Menacing Whisper 


335 


the apex of a cone or the mouth of a funnel, from 
which two mountain spurs swept away to right and 
left recedingly. Between these barriers lay mile after 
mile of tumbled rocks and forest which merged at 
length into a wide, open, rolling country flanked on 
the extreme left by the curving glinting ribbon of a 
river. Moran’s eyes glistened as he took in the 
familiar features of the placid, sunlit picture. 

“Man, oh, man!” he exclaimed. “That’s the 
Moon River. Smithtown lays jest around that north¬ 
ern spur. Once outa the valley down there we’ll come 
at it from the south instead of the north like we would 
have if we’d taken the trail I had in mind. The lay¬ 
out couldn’t be better, I’ll say.” 

Shirley looked downward, her smooth forehead 
puckering. From where they stood there was a drop 
of a good thousand feet to the tops of the trees clus¬ 
tering in the valley below. 

“But how are we going to get down there?” she 
asked doubtfully. 

“This path. It’s an old Indian trail, I reckon. 
Here! Give us yore hand and take a look. It ain’t 
as steep as it seems.” 

Obediently she grasped his outstretched hand and 
stepped forward to the edge of the shelf. The drop 
was not precipitous, but steeply sloping. The path, 
which left the ledge to curve upward at first over a 
sharp ridge to the right, appeared again fifty feet or 
more below. Back and forth across the surface of 



336 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


the slope it zigzagged laboriously. Shirley counted a 
dozen of these loops and then gave over the attempt. 

“ Slow but sure,” commented Moran. “A man 
could climb straight down in a tenth the time, but with 
the hosses we’ll have to use the trail. Those old fel¬ 
lahs were no slouches, I’ll tell the world. Notice how 
yuh can see pretty near every inch of the path from 
here. If a hostile crowd came after ’em all they 
had to do was to roll down a mess o’ boulders an’ 
wipe out the whole bunch. Well, let’s mosey back 
an’ break the joyful news.” 

They lost no time in retracing their steps to the 
other end of the ledge, where their news was wel¬ 
comed by Barton and the colonel with enthusiasm and 
relief. It was rather slow work leading the five 
horses up that steep slope, but once down on the ledge 
the rest was easy. Barton viewed the ruins as they 
passed with surprise and curiosity, but the nervous 
haste of Colonel Rives permitted no stopping until 
they reached the idol and the stone bridge. Here 
they dismounted and one by one the animals were 
led across, Moran with bis cream bringing up the 
rear. As he gained the farther side, Dan glanced 
back for a last look at the strange idol and glimpsed 
something which roused his curiosity and made him 
halt. 

“ Tm goin’ back for jest a second,” he told the 
others. “ I won’t be two shakes.” 

Dropping the reins he sped back across the flat 




The Menacing Whisper 


337 


stone and around to the rear of the idol. During that 
first rather hurried inspection the back of the seated 
figure had apparently rested against solid rock. Now, 
due probably to the shifting of the sun, Moran dis¬ 
covered that there was a dark little recess here from 
which a rude shaft or narrow, natural crevice seemed 
to pierce straight through the overhang. 

Bending forward he caught a glimpse of sunshine 
and a bit of blue sky not more than thirty feet above. 
Puzzled as to the character of this curious orifice, he 
tried to squeeze a little farther into the recess, per¬ 
ceived then the shadowy outline of what appeared to 
be a heavy, cylindrical rod projecting from the base 
of the idol, and promptly drew himself up on it to get 
a better view. 

Abruptly there came a scratching, scraping sound. 
The stone figure quivered slightly under his hand. 
An instant later Shirley screamed suddenly in a way 
that chilled his blood. 

u The slab!” she cried. “It’s dropping! Oh, 
Dan-” 

Twisting hastily in the crevice, Moran stared over 
the pitted shoulder of the seated idol and caught his 
breath. The massive slab which he had supposed as 
solid and immovable as the surrounding rock, was 
tilted sharply downward. Pivoted, apparently, at a 
point about three feet from the base of the stone 
god, the greater portion had swung forward reveal¬ 
ing vague glimpses of abysmal depths below. Close 




338 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


to the farther margin of that suddenly gaping hole 
stood Shirley, staring into it with a look of startled 
horror. 

“Go back!” Dan shouted, turning cold at the 
thought of what would have happened had she been 
standing a scant two feet nearer him. “For 
Heaven’s sake go back! ” 

Turning swiftly, he stepped to the ground and 
scrambled out of the niche. As his foot left the stone 
cylinder he felt the idol shake again, heard the same 
scratching, scraping sound, and emerging into the 
open, found the slab once more level and apparently 
secure. 

“Judas Priest! ” he muttered, wiping the perspira¬ 
tion from'his forehead. 

“What did you do back there?” demanded the 
colonel, who had rushed forward at his daughter’s 
cry. 

“ Stepped on a round stone thing stickin’ outa the 
back of his nibs,” returned Moran with a shrug. 
“ Yuh people stand back from the edge an’ I’ll show 
yuh.” 

As soon as they had withdrawn to a little distance, 
he scrambled back into the niche and climbed upon 
the cylinder, taking care this time to face the other 
way so that he could see what went on over the 
shoulder of the seated figure. The instant his full 
weight pressed upon the cylinder, the slab swung 
downward as before with an abrupt jerk which would 



The Menacing Whisper 


339 


inevitably hurl anyone who happened to be stand¬ 
ing on it into the depths below. 

For a moment or two Dan stared fascinated, filled 
with wonder at the diabolic cleverness of the device. 
This, then, was how that long-dead people had pro¬ 
tected their mountain fastness from attack. No 
wonder there had been no evidences of defensive 
walls, when at a touch a void like this could be 
opened in the rocky floor. Perhaps, too, they had 
used it as a means of sacrifice, hurling their victims 
into space instead of dispatching them with knife or 
hatchet. Circling the idol, Moran regarded it with 
a new respect, tinctured with no small aversion. 

“ . . . . principle of delicate balance oper¬ 

ated by a simple lever system,” the colonel was say¬ 
ing. “ You noticed that the inner end of the slab was 
much thicker than the outer. When that controlling 
lever is pressed down, evidently the balance is tempo¬ 
rarily destroyed and the slab tilts. I once saw a 
similar device in Spain, but it’s quite extraordinary to 
find it worked out in stone by a primitive people such 
as these must-” 

“ I knew the hateful creature was looking down at 
it for some reason,” cut in Shirley. “ Let’s get away 
before anything else happens. Can’t you jump across 
that slab, Dan, without stepping on it?” 

“ I reckon it’s safe enough now,” returned Moran, 
grinning. 

Nevertheless he did not dawdle, nor was any time 




340 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


lost by the party in getting out into the sunshine where 
they mounted at once and started along the twisting 
trail in single file. 

As this curved upward over the sharp ridge to 
begin there its long, tortuous descent, Dan’s roving 
glance lighted upon a curiously regular heap of stones 
standing out distinctly on the bare, sloping surface of 
the overhang that sheltered the ruined town. From 
its position he judged that it marked the emergence 
of that odd shaft back of the idol, and after a swift, 
appraising glance down the mountainside, he came 
to a sudden resolution. 

“Lead my horse for a bit, will yuh, Colonel?” he 
asked, sliding out of the saddle. “ I wanta take a 
look at that shaft up there. I can catch up with yuh 
easy by goin’ straight down the side instead of fol¬ 
lowin’ the trail.” 

The colonel looked somewhat dubious, but agreed. 
“Don’t be too long,” he urged. “We don’t want 
to delay getting down into that valley. 

• “Not me,” Moran assured him. “I’ll catch up 
with yuh at that second bend, or the third, anyway.” 

With a word of explanation to Barton and Shirley, 
he scrambled up the rocks and presently gained the 
summit of the rugged, flat-topped spur. The heap of 
stones he had noticed proved to be the remains of a 
low wall of masonry placed around the opening of the 
shaft, whose presence and purpose so puzzled and 
intrigued him. He saw now that it was a natural 



The Menacing Whisper 


341 


crevice enlarged and shaped to a rough symmetry by 
the laborious chipping of stone implements, but this 
did not help him to guess its use. Would it have 
served as a sort of chimney for some sacrificial fire, 
he wondered. Had it, by chance, anything to do with 
the operation of that stone lever, which lay, as well 
as he could judge, directly underneath? 

“Thunder! ” he muttered, after a few moments of 
vain cogitation. “What difference does it make, any¬ 
how?” 

But somehow the reflection failed to lessen in the 
least his interest and curiosity. The truth was that 
everything connected with this ruined, long forgotten 
city built by a people whose very name had been 
lost in the mists of centuries, fascinated him. It 
might have been the mystery and romance which 
clothe such relics of an ancient past appealing to one 
whose life had been concerned chiefly with the mat- 
ter-of-fact details of modern existence. At all events, 
though he had kept the feeling carefully to himself, 
he had been even more eager than Shirley to explore 
the intricacies of those shattered dwellings. Had 
there been time, nothing would have pleased him 
more, and even now he was reluctant to tear himself 
away. 

Hesitating, he glanced along the top of the giant 
overhang. He supposed he ought to rejoin the others 
without delaying further, but after all he still had 
plenty of time to reach them before they were half 



342 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


way down the slope. In the end, though with a 
rather guilty feeling, he turned and walked briskly 
away from the others, his object being to discover 
whether those ancient builders really had concealed 
their work as successfully and completely as appeared 
from below. 

His admiration for them increased as from point 
to point he failed entirely to get a single glimpse of 
those snugly hidden dwellings. To every outward 
seeming the foot of man might well have failed ever 
to tread this somber, desolate-looking mountain 
wilderness. The only betraying sign of the dead city 
beneath his feet was that odd shaft and the little 
ring of stones around its mouth. Again Dan won¬ 
dered why it was there, and then of a sudden, he 
stiffened and stood motionless, nerves taut and every 
sense alert. 

From that sheer, dark cliff towering up across the 
narrow gulf a whisper came to him, blurred, inarticu¬ 
late, but strangely human. Still as a carven statue, 
with only the gray eyes of him brilliantly, feverishly 
alive, he waited, listening. Presently the whispering 
murmur came again and for an instant he tried to 
believe that it was some trick of the wind soughing 
through that narrow gulch or rising from the abyss 
beneath. But there was no wind stirring; no wind 
that he had ever heard could reproduce the human 
voice like that. An echo, then? But of what? 

The question had scarcely flashed into his brain 



The Menacing Whisper 


343 


before he knew the answer. The whispering murmur 
was an echo of voices — the voices of men standing 
on the ledge before the dead city, flung back to him 
from the flat surface of that sheer, blank cliff. 

He did not need to ask himself what men. In¬ 
stantly he knew that the possibility he had only 
vaguely and remotely considered, had suddenly be¬ 
come a menacing reality. Asher and his band of 
outlaws had trailed them only too successfully, and 
at this very moment were passing along in front of 
those ruined, ancient dwellings beneath his very feet. 



CHAPTER XLVII 

THE STONE SLAB FALLS 




F OR a single, petrifying second Moran was rooted 
to the spot, in his mind a Vivid picture of that 
twisting, turning trail which looped endlessly back 
and forth in its tortuous descent into the wooded 
valley. It would take Shirley and the others a good 
three-quarters of an hour to gain the shelter of that 
forest, and during every moment of the descent they 
would be within rifle range of the little shelf com¬ 
manding the whole steep mountainside. Asher’s men 
might hesitate to use their rifles on a girl, but Dan 
knew that no compunction would hold them back 
from shooting Barton and the colonel, or any, or all 
of the horses. 

Lips twitching momentarily, Moran turned and 
ran back toward the extremity of the spur. His one 
thought was to gain the margin of the rock above 
that little shelf ahead of the outlaws. From this 
point of vantage he could, he felt sure, force them to 
keep under cover indefinitely, or at least until dark¬ 
ness fell. That he would be placing himself in a 
position of great difficulty and hazard he realized, 
but gave it scarcely a second thought. If only the 
others would go on without him, escape the danger 
of that exposed trail and carry the treasure and them¬ 
selves beyond the reach of Asher’s gang, he did not 
344 



The Stone Slab Falls 


345 


much care what happened to himself. 

u Not that I’m gonna fall into their mouths like 
a ripe plum, not a-tall,” he reflected grimly. “ If I 
can hold ’em up ’till after dark, they’ll have to do 
some hustlin’ to get their claws on me, they shorely 
will.” 

Panting a little he reached the end of the spur 
and looking down, saw his friends moving slowly 
along the narrow trail about two hundred feet below. 
He dared not shout, but presently catching Barton’s 
upward glance, he began to signal vigorously with 
his arms. For a space Cass seemed puzzled. Moran 
saw him pull up and speak to the others, who looked 
up quickly. Again Dan waved them imperatively on, 
pointed to the opening beneath him, and laid one 
finger on his lips as a sign of caution. 

This time Barton seemed to understand his mean¬ 
ing even if he failed to grasp the motive that lay 
behind it, and loosening his reins started briskly 
onward. Shirley, who rode between the two men, 
hung back, but apparently a few earnest words from 
her father sent her on. She waved one hand vigor¬ 
ously at Dan and as she rode kept looking back. 

“Good kid,” Moran muttered. “She don’t want 
to go, but she will. Now for the fireworks.” 

Drawing his Colt he examined it carefully and 
then dropped it back into the holster. As yet he had 
heard no further sound of voices, so now, thinking 
that these might come the sooner up that circular 



346 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


shaft, he sped back to the opening. As he bent over 
it Orms Asher’s cold, cutting, domineering voice 
floated up to him with curious distinctness. 

“You fools!” he sneered. “Of course it’s safe. 
What do you think it’s goin’ to do—fall to pieces 
when you step on it? ” 

“It might drop down,” retorted Trexler, Asher’s 
ranch foreman. “ It don’t look none too strong 
to me.” 

Asher swore luridly. “You got about as much 
sense as a two-year-old kid,” he rasped. “ Haven’t 
we followed that cursed Moran an’ the rest of ’em 
right into this joint? Didn’t the marks of their 
horses on the slope show they’d come up it? How do 
you s’pose they got across here — flew? I’ll show 
you fools. There! I’m standin’ plumb on it, ain’t 
I? Maybe you’d like me to jump up an’ down to 
prove it’s as solid as the rock there.” 

Moran caught his breath and a sudden, amazing, 
rather horrible possibility sent the blood flaming into 
his face. The topmost stone of the little parapet 
over which he leaned was loose, and without hesitat¬ 
ing he caught hold of it with both hands, shoved it 
free of the wall and held it directly over the center 
of the shaft. If some slight compunction smote him, 
he swiftly strangled it. This was not a moment for 
compunctions, nor did Orms Asher merit any. An 
instant later he let go his hold and the heavy, roughly 
squared stone dropped into the shaft. 



The Stone Slab Falls 


347 


A sharp, splintering crack echoed through the en¬ 
closed space, followed swiftly by a dull grinding. A 
slithering scrape, a thud, the sound of several voices 
crying out simultaneously seemed to follow all at 
once. Then, rising above and beyond all else a pierc¬ 
ing cry vibrated through the narrow shaft; a single, 
wild despairing shriek which turned Dan’s blood cold 
and brought out little beads of sweat upon his fore¬ 
head. After that — silence. 

With an effort Moran loosened his spasmodic grip 
on the edge of the stone coping and slowly straight¬ 
ened. His face was white and he was conscious of 
a sense of physical nausea. Through the shaft the 
broken murmur of voices came to him merely as 
vague, inarticulate sounds laden with dazed horror, 
awe, and apprehension. But presently, drawing one 
sleeve across his moist forehead, he bent forward 
again and listened. 

“ It ain’t so awful wide,” Foss McCoy was saying. 
“A fellah could jump acrost, or mebbe climb over on 
the end o’ that slab that sticks up.” 

“Yeah?” Dan recognized the querulous tones of 
Sheriff Plummer. “Try it, man, try it, if yo’re so 
dead set on takin’ chances. Not for mine, though, 
don’t think it. Gawd! I can hear that screech he 
let out yet an’ see him clawin’ an’ grabbin’ at the 
edge as he went over.” 

“An’ if yuh did get over, what then?” inquired 
Cliff Trexler. “Yuh wouldn’t get no hoss within 



348 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


more’n three feet o’ that hole without yuh dragged 
him with a rope. What gets me,” he went on in a 
puzzled tone, “ is how that pup Moran done it.” 

“ If yuh asked me I’d say he didn’t.” The voice 
sounded like that of Blondy Jessup. “ If that damn 
slab went down with Orms jest jouncin’ on it, how 
the devil could it hold a hoss?” 

“But that bunch come up here, didn’t they?” 
snapped McCoy. “The marks on that slope was 
plain enough an’ fresh, too.” 

“Mebbe so, but how do we know they didn’t 
turn back when they struck this place? How do 
we know they didn’t find some way where they could 
climb outa that canon back there, or the gulch further 
on? They might even have struck acrost the moun¬ 
tains to the old Smithtown trail. If yuh ask me I’d 
say we was wastin’ time.” 

On the cliff above Moran straightened, his eyes 
sparkling. Apparently they had not the least sus¬ 
picion of his presence or the part he had played in 
bringing about the catastrophe. What was even 
more important, the slab had evidently not swung 
back into place again and the hole was still open. 
Remembering that splintering crack, Dan wondered 
whether the force of the falling rock might not have 
broken the stone lever and in this fashion destroyed 
the entire mechanism. 

“Though it don’t make much difference how it 
happened, so long as it did,” he reflected. “They’ll 



The Stone Slab Falls 


349 


never get those hawsses across the gap; I’ll bet they 
won’t even try it themselves. I’m gonna take a 
chance.” 

Turning, he sped swiftly across the sloping sur¬ 
face of the spur toward the point where the trail 
curved over the sharp ridge. Reaching it, he saw 
that his companions were within a few hundred feet 
of the bottom, and at once he started down the steep 
descent. Slipping, sliding, now and then taking little 
runs, again forced to hold back and almost crawl over 
some especially steep place, he cut across loop after 
loop of the twisting trail. Every now and then he 
glanced back, but always that little shelf drowsed 
placidly empty in the hot glare of the noonday sun. 
When he finally reached the others he was streaked 
with grime and sweat, clothes torn, boots scratched 
and sliced and the feet within them blistered. 

“ It’s all right,” he said, as he swung into the sad¬ 
dle of the cream. “ The slab’s dropped down to stay, 
an’ they can’t get their cayuses across the gap.” 

“Was it Asher’s bunch?” asked Barton eagerly, 
twisting in his saddle. 

“ Yeah. Keep agoin’, fellah. We wanta get under 
cover. They ain’t likely to, but if one of ’em should 
climb across an’ see us down here, it might stir him 
up to unslingin’ his Winchester.” 

As they rode on he briefly told his story, which 
came to an end just as they gained the bottom of 
the slope and pushed on into the shelter of the trees. 



350 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


“ They think we’ve mebbe cut across the mountains 
toward the old Smithtown trail,” he concluded; “so 
I reckon we’d better give that burg a wide birth an’ 
head straight for Allerton an’ the railroad. It’s an 
open, level trail an’ we can take things easy now.” 

“But not too easy,” said Cass quickly. “ Orms 
ain’t one to let no grass grow under his feet, as we 
know. He’s right smart, too, an’ I wouldn’t wonder 
if he’d guess where we was headin’ for when he don’t 
find us in Smithtown.” 

“ You’re right,” agreed Colonel Rives with nervous 
abruptness. “ I don’t believe that scoundrel would 
hesitate to follow us straight into Allerton. We 
mustn’t waste a minute.” 

For an instant Moran hesitated, glancing at 
Shirley who rode beside him. He had deliberately 
suppressed the details of Asher’s fate, thinking that 
it might shock and horrify her, unnecessarily. But 
now he wondered whether there would not be a com¬ 
pensating relief in learning the truth. At least she 
would have to know it sometime. 

“Yuh needn’t fret about him no more, Colonel,” 
he said slowly. “Yuh see, Orms happened to be 
standin’ on that slab when I dropped the rock an’ 
smashed the lever.” 

On the edge of a gentle slope backed by ragged 
tamaracks which sheltered it from the near proximity 
of Allerton’s thrusting outskirts, a man and a girl 



The Stone Slab Falls 


351 


stood close together. Below them the twin rails of 
a single gauge track stretched away across the flat, 
rolling country, glinting and glittering in the brilliant 
morning sunshine. The eyes of both of them were 
fixed intently on a tiny black object which swayed and 
rocketted along those rails far to the westward. Pres¬ 
ently, as a puff of smoke rose from the distant engine, 
Shirley gave a sigh of relief. 

“Thank goodness it’s gone,” she said, glancing at 
Moran. “Nothing can happen to it now, surely? 
It’s quite safe? ” 

“Safe as a church,” Moran assured her. “The 
express people will deliver it to the bank at Windsor 
where it’ll be deposited in yore Dad’s name. It’ll lie 
there ’till we’ve found our ranch and are ready to 
settle down.” 

“Poor Dad!” murmured Shirley. “What with 
the mental strain and his bad shoulder he’s completely 
done up. I hadn’t the least trouble persuading him 
to go to bed in the hotel, which isn’t always his way, 
I can tell you.” 

“How about yuh?” asked Moran. “Aren’t 
yuh-” 

“Tired — just dog tired,” she told him as he 
paused. “ But awfully relaxed and thankful, of 
course, that it’s over.” 

“Let’s sit down an’ take it easy,” he suggested. 
“ We haven’t a thing to do ’till dinner.” 

A little to one side a sloping, lichened boulder lay 




352 


Moran of Saddle Butte 


invitingly in the shadow of the tamaracks. All about 
it the sunlight filtered down in dancing, golden 
splotches; out in the open, masses of wild asters lay 
across the slope, a great sweeping splash of purple. 
As they settled down against the boulder, Dan’s arm 
went about the girl and Shirley relaxed against his 
shoulder with a gentle sigh. 

“ It’s nice to have nothing to do,” she murmured, 
“ and nothing to think about except-” 

She paused, and taking off her hat dropped it care¬ 
lessly on the ground beside her. 

“ Yeah?” questioned Don. u Nothing except — ?” 

She flashed a swift shy glance at him. “ You know 
what I mean, foolish!” 

He grinned and drew her closer to him. “ Mebbe 
I like to hear yuh say it.” 

Her brown eyes sparkled with an answering light. 
The faint rose color in her lovely face deepened. 
Then abruptly her long, thick lashes swept down 
defendingly. 

“Except — just each other,” she finished in a low 
tone. “There! Does that satisfy— Oh, Dan! 
You need a shave.” 

“ Do yuh really mind?” 

Her soft cheek lay pressed against his rough, 
bronzed face. She did not try to move away; sud¬ 
denly she knew she did not want to. With a con¬ 
tented sigh she nestled into the crook of his arm. 

“No, darling,” she murmured. “I really don’t.” 






























































































































































































































































































































































































































